


Road Trip

by rose_malmaison



Category: NCIS
Genre: College age Tony, Friendship, Gen, Gen Work, Pre-show
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-31
Updated: 2013-07-31
Packaged: 2017-12-22 00:59:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 25,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/907027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rose_malmaison/pseuds/rose_malmaison
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony's in college when his father, without any explanation, arranges for a gruff Marine to drive Tony to New York. Tony rebels at first, but the prospect of a road trip is appealing, and he senses there's more to Gibbs than meets the eye. This story about their developing friendship is set in 1991-1993. <br/>NOTE: this is Gen but there's a slash version called The Bodyguard also posted here (as of August 2017).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is made up of chapters taken from my story 'The Bodyguard' and was edited and expanded upon - and made into a GEN story for an Ancient's Gate fanzine in 2012.
> 
>  
> 
> [](http://ncis-fan-awards.livejournal.com/profile)  
> 

**Title: Road Trip**  
by: rose malmaison  
Characters: DiNozzo, Gibbs  
Genre: Gen, friendship, pre-show (1991-1993)  
Rating: PG/teen  
Warnings: Language, hint of earlier physical abuse  
Spoilers: None  
Disclaimer: Borrowing the characters for further exploration.  
Length: 25,000 words in 6 chapters. _Complete_.  
Betad by: Annie

 

 

Summary: Tony's in college when his father, without any explanation, arranges for a gruff Marine to drive Tony to New York. Tony rebels at first, but the prospect of a road trip is appealing, and he senses there's more to Gibbs than meets the eye. This story about their friendship is set in 1991-1993.

Note: This is made up of chapters taken from my story 'The Bodyguard' and was edited and expanded upon - and made into a Gen story for an Ancient's Gate fanzine in 2012.

***–***

**Chapter 1 - What Lies Ahead**

Nothing behind me, everything ahead of me, as is ever so on the road.  
~ Jack Kerouac

_May, 1991, Columbus, Ohio_

The gray-haired man walked right into Tony's rundown one-room apartment as if he owned the place and said curtly, "Call me Gibbs."

Tony looked him up and down, knowing that his slow perusal of the man bordered on being insolent, but he really didn't care. After all, even if the apartment was a dump, it was _his_ dump and this guy was an intruder. The only reason Tony had even opened the door was because he'd received a brief call from Colonel Hargrave's office, warning him of Gibbs' impending visit. Tony hadn't had time to find out what it was all about when Gibbs had showed up, stony-faced and commanding.

At first, Tony found nothing to like about Mr. 'call me Gibbs.' For starters, he was old. He had to be pushing forty from the looks of his cropped gray hair, and there were wrinkles at the corners of his eyes that had obviously not been put there by smiling. His clothes were nondescript, right out of the Sears catalog, but even without a uniform, Gibbs had a look about him that clearly indicated he'd recently stepped out of a war zone. Hell, the dude was wound up tight, like he was itching for some hand-to-hand combat; probably had an automatic stuck in the small of his back and a knife hidden behind his belt buckle. The slight limp he had looked like it might be his knee. Wounded in combat? Tony couldn't decide whether Gibbs was a commando or a Marine, but either way, his presence was not welcome.

A closer look revealed that despite Gibbs' military appearance there was something to appreciate, namely his eyes. They were a piercing blue in his tanned face, clear and intelligent, and when Tony looked really hard he thought he could see a touch of wry humor buried deep beneath the icy cold glare that, at the moment, was targeted upon him. Even if the way Gibbs was eyeballing him was a bit disconcerting, Tony stood his ground. He raised his chin and drew himself up to his full height to show that he wasn't afraid, and wasn't about to back down.

Gibbs' smirk, as he pulled out his cell phone and placed a call, told Tony that Gibbs saw right through him. "Colonel? Yes, sir. Got him in my sights," Gibbs said, seemingly amused by whatever he was hearing. "Yeah, I can see that." Gibbs never took his eyes off Tony during the entire time he was on the phone, and it took all of Tony's self-control not to fidget,

Tony did not like that Gibbs was talking about him with the colonel, though Col. Hargrave had always been strict but fair when he'd been Tony's teacher at the Rhode Island Military Academy. Tony remembered the way Hargrave was fond of quoting Hannibal: "We will either find a way or make one."

Sometimes, when things became difficult, like when his dad predicted that Tony would fail miserably without his help and would come running home with his tail between his legs, Tony would remember those words. Nobody could tell him that something was impossible, that it couldn't be done. He'd find another way, create a new set of circumstances, think outside the damned box. Tony figured that if he didn't succeed, it wouldn't be for want of trying.

***–***

The important thing about life, according to Tony's father, was taking control and keeping it, and that applied to everything, including his own son. Tony had been trying to break ties with his father for a while now, but up until the day he left for college he hadn't had much success. Every time he'd thought he was about to get out from under Senior's thumb, and was right on the verge of escaping, good old dad would reel him right back in like a fish on a line. Tony would be the first to admit that it was usually about money, though their fights, some of them physical, were about other things as well. Senior berated Tony for his irresponsible behavior; criticized Tony for having his head in the clouds; insisted that his son put away his silly dreams and plan on majoring in business. Tony could take all of that, but what he hated the most was when things got really heated, Senior would ask God why Mom had to be the one to die in the car crash.

DiNozzo Sr. had barely spoken to his son ever since their big blow-up over Tony's decision to accept Ohio State over a college of his father's choosing. Tony had felt such pride upon receiving a sports scholarship, knowing that all of his hard work had finally paid off, that he threw his achievement in his father's face. It had almost been worth getting the back of his hand to see his dad lose his cool when Tony announced he was going to be a Buckeye.

Telling his dad that he could shove it and then walking (okay, he'd sort of limped) out the door had been one of the most satisfying things Tony had ever done, and just about the scariest, too. His biggest regret was that he'd had to leave his collection of Magnum videos behind along with the rest of his belongings.

It took a while, over a year, but eventually they were back on speaking terms. Tony figured this was a concession his dad made only so he'd be able to hand out advice. Dad was good at that, telling people what to do, disregarding that they usually didn't want it. On the rare occasion that Senior had talked to Tony since he'd headed to college, it had always been by phone. To date, Senior hadn't shown his face at any of the school functions, nor at any of Tony's games. In fact, Tony wasn't sure that his dad even knew where Ohio was on the map.

He'd had been doing pretty well on his own; his grades were good, his social life and sports – and more sports – kept him busy, and he'd had been able to scrape together enough funds to sublet a place of his own place for the summer. Once fall came around, he'd be back in a dorm on campus as a junior. The Alpha Chi Delta frat house had a waiting list a mile long due to its popularity, and Tony didn't expect to get a room there for a while. Some of the frat brothers never got the chance to move in, although they did share the same fraternity privileges.

Tony might be eating little else but soup and noodles, and cadging meals wherever he could, but he was having a damned good time just the same. Now he'd made it through his sophomore year, he had a good job lined up at a big health and sports center for the summer. Of course he hoped to leave a little time in his schedule for fun, and had already secured an open-ended invitation to a frat brother's vacation place on a nearby lake.

***–***

Now, out of the blue, this guy Gibbs appears on his doorstep, with an attitude that clearly said 'his way or no way.' Only Tony DiNozzo was not about to take orders from this man, or from anyone else, for that matter. Nobody was going to ruin his plans, not his father or his hired help.

As soon as he finished talking to Hargrave, Gibbs dialed another number. He spent a couple of minutes listening, making short responses that were no more than neutral grunts, which Tony would bet was annoying the hell out of whoever was on the other end of the line. After a while, Gibbs held out the phone to Tony and said, "Your father. He wants to talk to you."

Tony crossed his arms over his chest and tucked his hands into his armpits. "So what?" He was getting really pissed about everyone – especially this Gibbs guy – telling him what to do, and not even bothering to explain what the hell was going on.

Gibbs' eyes narrowed a little and next thing Tony knew, there was a swat to the back of his head and he found himself clutching the phone in one sweaty hand. Tony glared at Gibbs and rubbed the back of his head. When he paid attention to the voice emanating from the phone, he discovered it was his father. Same as always, Anthony DiNozzo Sr. was telling him what to do.

"You will do everything this man instructs you to do, Anthony. To the letter. Do I make myself clear?"

Tony rolled his eyes, sure that his dad knew exactly what he was doing, even if he was 500 miles away. "Why should I do what _he_ says?"

"Because I tell you to," came the terse response. "Because you're my son and I'm responsible for your wellbeing, whether you like it or not."

Yes, Senior had the irritated-yet-duty-bound dad down pat. Tony waited a beat and then asked, "You want to tell me what he is doing standing here in my place, looking at me like he wants to haul my ass off to the recruiting office to enlist me in the Marines?" When he was seventeen, Tony had casually remarked that he might enlist in the Navy, and DiNozzo Sr.'s flare of temper convinced Tony that he would never again disclose his plans, wishes, or dreams to his dad if he wanted to keep all of his teeth.

There was silence for such a long time that Tony began to wonder if they'd been disconnected, but then Senior said, with uncharacteristic hesitation, "It's not important that you know. Understand that there have been threats and that…I'm taking them seriously. I need time to get this cleared up."

Okay, that didn't sound good. Shit, the old man did business with some disreputable people, and Tony would bet that this was about one of them. Still, Tony protested, "I don't need a babysitter, uh, I mean, a bodyguard, Dad." Tony watched Gibbs almost-smile and wondered what he was thinking. Probably enjoyed watching Tony spar with his father from the sidelines.

After a tense silence, Senior said, as if through gritted teeth, "Just trust me. For once, Anthony, do as I say without damned-well fighting me at every turn."

"What if I _don't_ trust you?" Tony cringed a little at his own temerity and held the phone away from his ear, just in case. He would never have spoken in that manner to his father a year or so ago, and probably wouldn't have questioned him at all, but living on his own had been wonderfully emancipating. Distance made him brave even if the thought of someone coming after him – to kidnap him? for revenge? – made Tony uneasy even if it was unlikely.

"Then trust Gibbs, damn it," DiNozzo barked, and hung up.

Tony handed the phone back to Gibbs. "He says you're my keeper and I should trust you. Lucky you, huh?" He shifted his weight and had a serious look at Gibbs. He certainly looked as though he was up to the job. That he was military was pretty obvious, and not long off the battlefield, if Tony read him right. There were subtle signs of that: hyper-alertness, a tense stance, bottled-up aggression. And something about the eyes that spoke of loneliness, having seen too much death, and something else…something personal that he kept hidden.

Despite himself, Tony was interested in Gibbs, what made him tick. Did he trust him, though? Senior had sought help from Col. Hargrave, and he in turn had assigned Gibbs to be Tony's bodyguard. The colonel was a good man and Tony trusted _him_ , at least.

Tony asked, "You ever see that _Tom & Jerry_ cartoon, from the '40s, when Jerry rescues Spike, the dog, from the dogcatcher, and Spike is so grateful he says he'll be Jerry's bodyguard?" Gibbs's blue eyes didn't waver so Tony continued, "All Jerry has to do is whistle when he needs help, and Spike comes to the rescue. But then Jerry sucks on a sticky candy and when he gets in trouble he can't make a whistle. Things get very hairy for a while."

"You got a point, DiNozzo?"

Gibbs was looking at him expectantly, as if he truly wanted an answer, so Tony decided to be direct. "Look, I can't put my trust in you, Gibbs, because you aren't always going to be around."

"Well, I'm gonna be around for the next few days, so let's see if we can survive that before we make any long-term plans."

Gibbs seemed serious, so after some thought Tony nodded. "Okay, but what's my dad done that I have to turn my life upside down?" He had a pretty good idea what was going on but he wondered if Gibbs knew what DiNozzo Sr. was really all about. People rarely crossed his father, in business or in person, but when they did, it always got ugly. Something bad must be going down for Senior to take such precautions; Tony knew an armed protection detail when he saw it.

When he was a kid he'd thought that everyone's dad had a guy who looked like a club bouncer at his side, watching his six. A few times, Tony had been scooped up by one of his father's employees and taken to some remote location for his safety. One time, in the middle of the night, they took him to a safe house still wearing his Batman PJs. Usually Tony was dumped at a distant relative's home and Dad picked him up a week later, which was fine by him. Once they ended up in a cabin out in the boonies, him and this guy who worked for his father, and they got snowed in. Even now Tony remembered having the time of his life because they'd had a heap of snow overnight and the man, Franco was his name, taught Tony how to ski on a gentle slope out back.

When he was a little boy, Tony had put his ear to enough doors to have some understanding of what his father did for a living, and now, as an adult, he was doing his best to distance himself from that world. It wasn't that he didn't love his father, because he did, even with all the shit that he'd had to deal with while growing up. Senior might be a heavy-handed man who had some questionable – okay, _illegal_ – business practices, but to Tony, he was still his Dad. You can't choose your relatives, after all.

Gibbs was standing there, tight-lipped, so Tony prodded, "Did Senior tell you what's going on?"

Gibbs' expression didn't give anything away when he said curtly, "Not my business."

To Tony, Gibbs didn't seem like the kind of guy who took orders without asking questions. "What _is_ your business, exactly?" Tony persisted. The only response he got was a hooded look that told him to butt out and stop asking so many pesky questions. Tony crossed his arms over his chest and returned Gibbs's glower with one of his own. "Let's be straight here. Mr. Gibbs. You want me to go with you but I don't know you from Adam, and my mom told me to never get into cars with strangers." Tony smiled brightly to make light of his words, but he meant what he said. He wasn't going anywhere with anyone without a good reason. "You have much experience at this kind of thing?"

Gibbs was assessing him again, probably trying to figure out if the kid standing in front of him was jerking his chain or if he really wanted the truth. Tony thought it was funny that he was able to read so much into what was a straightforward, sharp look. Gibbs knew who his father was yet could see that Tony was living in a hole in the wall. He had to be curious, had to have asked about their background if only to know where the danger might be coming from.

Gibbs crossed his arms, too; his gaze didn't waver and neither did Tony's. Finally Gibbs asked, "Experience with taking orders or with being a bodyguard?"

Now he was getting somewhere. "Either," Tony said quickly.

"I've done my share of babysitting cherries," Gibbs said, straight-faced.

A slow smile grew across Tony's face as he read between the lines. "Babysitting…new recruits, right? You're a drill instructor," he stated as if he knew it for a fact.

Gibbs said, almost reluctantly, " _Was_ a drill instructor. Marines."

Yes, Tony DiNozzo gets it in one! "Ahah…I thought there was some DI behind those baby-blues. Oh yeah, R. Lee Ermey in _Full Metal Jacket_!" Tony quoted, "'I'm Gunnery Sergeant Hartman, your senior drill instructor. From now on you will speak only when spoken to, and the first and the last word out of your filthy sewers will be 'sir'. Do you maggots understand that?'"

"You're wrong," said Gibbs, frowning.

"I'm wrong?"

"I never called any recruit a maggot," said Gibbs.

"You didn't?" Shit, now he'd insulted the man.

Gibbs shook his head solemnly. "No. I called them ass-wipe, puke-head…"

Tony couldn't help grinning at Gibbs' joke, and a couple of seconds later he saw, with delight, that the corner of Gibbs' mouth twitched in the beginnings of a smile, and his eyes were sparkling with amusement. Tony was used to dazzling people to get what he wanted - teachers, girls and even people he didn't like at all, but making Gibbs smile seemed like a rare victory. There was something about this man that made him want to smile in return, even if he seemed, at first glance, like a taciturn bastard. Maybe it was because Gibbs was purposely hiding his softer side, a side that Tony wanted to know. Not that anything about Gibbs was even remotely soft. Tony said, "Well, that makes me all the more glad I didn't join up. Verbal abuse at the crack-of-0400 is not at the top of Tony DiNozzo's list of favorite things. So, what's on the agenda, Mr. Gibbs?"

"It's Gibbs, or Gunny. Don't call me mister or sir." Gibbs looked around Tony's small apartment.

Tony wondered what Gibbs was looking for. Apart from the kitchenette, a bed, desk, and a second-hand TV, there were only books, videos and sports equipment in sight. Gibbs' critical once-over made Tony glad he hadn't left his dirty socks and underwear lying around, and that there were only a couple of food-encrusted plates on the floor. "Okay, and you can call me Tony but never call me Junior."

Gibbs nodded. "Grab your gear. Enough for a couple of weeks."

Interested, despite himself, Tony asked, "Road trip?"

"I'm taking you home to New York."

"New York? Wait a minute! I am _not_ going back there. That is not my home any more and I told my dad I wasn't going back after–"

"Hey, calm down!" Gibbs stepped close to Tony, toe-to-toe, serious now. "Let's get this straight. I am not taking orders from your father. I'm escorting you to your aunt and uncle's house in New York because the colonel told me to. What I say is final. You will do exactly as I say; you will do it quickly, and without any hesitation. Got that? There will be no debate. That's rule number twenty."

Tony blinked. "You've got a rule for everything?" He wasn't expecting the resulting glower, and its intensity scared him. Gibbs' jaw clenched and his hands curled into fists, making Tony take a quick step back, hands raised. The dark look on Gibbs face immediately disappeared and was camouflaged with an almost bland expression. Tony had a feeling the man was embarrassed by his reaction. He wondered what he'd said to trigger that kind of anger in the first place, but he said sincerely, "Hey, I'm sorry, man."

For the first time since he'd walked into Tony's apartment, Gibbs didn't meet Tony's eyes when he spoke. "Today, DiNozzo. We've got a long trip ahead of us."

"Wait a minute! I can't just up and leave, Gibbs. I'm starting a new job in a couple of days and I'm not risking losing it because it was really hard to get. My father might have riled up some guy from the old neighborhood but there's no way anyone is going to come all the way out to Ohio to whack me, or whatever Dad thinks is gonna happen. And what's the point of me running towards the danger, if there really is any, which I doubt there is? Anyway, anyone who knows anything about Senior DiNozzo knows he wouldn't give a shit if I ended up in the gutter, so this is all a big waste of time, mine and yours."

Gibbs got right in Tony's face, his eyes sparking with anger. "What part of 'do exactly as I tell you to do without giving me any crap' do you not understand, Junior?"

Gibbs in angry mode was pretty scary. Tony swallowed hard and somehow managed to stand his ground. "And I told you–"

"You told me what?" Tony didn't reply and after a couple of seconds Gibbs burst out with an impatient, " _What_?"

"Um, I'm waiting for you to finish your sentence, Gunny."

"What the hell're you talking about?"

"You're supposed to say, 'You told me what, _ass-wipe_?'"

Gibbs glared at Tony for a full ten seconds while Tony sweated, and then the older man asked brusquely, "You jerking my chain, DiNozzo?"

"No, Gunny."

"Huh. You pack and I'll see what I can do about calling your boss. Let him know this is a family emergency." Gibbs eyed Tony, who hadn't moved. "Now what, DiNozzo?"

Tony was surprised that Gibbs would call his boss for him, and he really didn't know what to say, but he collected his wits and got out a quick, "Thank you." Deciding to take Gibbs at his word, Tony started to pack, then turned back to face Gibbs. "Oh, and by the way, I told you not to call me Junior," Tony said firmly.

Gibbs gave a curt nod and said, "Understood."

Tony figured that so long as he was going to his aunt and uncle's home, and not his father's place, he'd go along with Gibbs' plan. His Aunt Margaret – his mother's older sister – had always been welcoming and she had, more than once, offered Tony a safe haven when things had been tough at home. She wouldn't cross Senior openly, but she had always tried to help Tony whenever she was able. It seemed like his uncle was never around, but Aunt Margaret had been the only person to offer a little boy a shoulder to cry on when he missed his mother and he thought that nobody loved him. She'd given him a place to stay whenever he needed it, a haven where nobody asked why he was carrying himself so stiffly or where he'd got those bruises.

Once, someone had anonymously called social services on his father; not that it had done any good because Senior seemed to have everyone in his pocket. But Tony had later wondered if it had been his aunt who had placed that call.

Tony hurriedly packed some clothes and whatever else he'd need for a couple of weeks. He didn't own much so it didn't take him long. His hand hovered over a large paperback sitting on his bedside table.

"What're you reading?"

Gibbs had managed to walk up right behind Tony, and stood so close Tony could feel his breath on the back of his neck. Tony immediately tensed up but as soon as he realized that he did, actually, trust Gibbs enough to let him stand behind him, he relaxed. "It's _The Man's Guide to Magnum, P. I._ It covers everything in the show - the guns, the team, the babes. Has pictures of the King Kamehameha Club, Magnum and Rick, T. C.'s chopper. It's a Hughes 500D." Tony pointed to the car featured on the cover, his voice softening in a mixture of reverence and envy. "This is Robin Master's car, a Ferrari 308 GTS. Someday…" He glanced up to see Gibbs looking curiously at him. "Sorry," he said, his face heating up.

Gibbs said, "Don't apologize. Nothing wrong with having dreams."

"Is that another rule?" Tony stuffed the book in his bag and did a quick check of his temporary home to make sure he hadn't forgotten anything. He looked over his shoulder at Gibbs and said, "It's from _She Wore a Yellow Ribbon_. John Wayne says you should never apologize because it's a sign of weakness."

Gibbs looked a little taken aback. "Yeah. Number six."

"That's what Col. Hargrave used to say. Don't apologize; make it right. You got any more of those rules?" Tony zipped up his bag and when he straightened up and turned around, it was to find Gibbs' eyes were on him. This time Tony couldn't fathom what was going on behind the Marine's mask.

Gibbs seemed to shake himself, and then he replied, "There are about fifty rules. Tell me, why do I get the feeling that I'm gonna be making up a hell of a lot of new rules, just for you, before this little trip is over?"

***–*** end chapter 1 ***–***


	2. Chapter 2

Genre: Gen, friendship, pre-show (1991-1993)  
Rating: PG/teen  
Warnings: Language, hint of earlier physical abuse  
Spoilers: None

**Chapter 2 - Golden Lands**

But why think about that when all the golden lands ahead of you and all kinds of unforeseen events wait lurking to surprise you and make you glad you're alive to see?

~ Jack Kerouac

_August, 1991, Cincinnati, Ohio_

After the Reds game was over they stayed seated, waiting for the worst of the crowds to dissipate. Tony leaned back in his seat, enjoying the heat from the sun, just feeling good with Gibbs at his side. "Thanks for bringing me to the game," Tony said to Gibbs, who shrugged it off as if it were nothing. Tony knew better; Gibbs had been looking forward to this outing as much as he had.

"I also have to thank you for talking to my boss," Tony said, looking sideways at Gibbs. Gibbs frowned as if he didn't have any recollection of what Tony was referring to so Tony prodded Gibbs to make him meet his eyes. "I was sure by the time I got back here my job would've been given to someone else. I mean, there had to have been fifty other applicants, so I was lucky to get it in the first place. The sports center's pay is good and I can pretty much make my own hours, plus they'd already lined me up to teach two classes. Battling Babes is one of them," Tony said with a grin.

Gibbs raised his eyebrows. "Where do I sign up?"

Tony laughed aloud. "It's a self-defense course for women," he admitted.

"Seems like you're the perfect guy for the job, Tony."

"It's okay. They can get overly enthusiastic at times, though. You should've seen how vicious some of them were when I told them they could attack the mugger (that was me) freely. Good thing I was wearing a padded protection suit." Tony looked at Gibbs sideways and said, "Anyway, when I got back from New York, I was sure they would have hired someone else. They hadn't and my boss was really understanding, which was sort of weird. Don't get me wrong; he's a nice guy and all, but he's always watching the bottom dollar, you know? So I walk in and he tells me that he held the job because he knew I was going to be an outstanding employee."

"You got a problem with that?"

Tony shook his head slowly. "No, but what I think he was _really_ saying was that he expected I'd work my ass off and teach the self-defense course because none of the other guys who work there will do it, and because someone called him and told him it would be in his best interest to keep me on the payroll. Now I know for a fact my dad wouldn't do that so…"

"Sounds more like he knows not to waste good," Gibbs said, shrugging it off. "And he doesn't need me to tell him that."

Tony ducked his head, a little embarrassed at Gibbs' off-the-cuff praise. He found it sort of endearing that Gibbs wouldn't own up to putting in a good word for him, as if Gibbs was unused to people thanking him. "Well, all I know is that _you_ saved my life, Gibbs." Gibbs looked at him skeptically so Tony explained, "If I'd lost that job I would've been in deep shit, money-wise."

"Hmm. Couldn't call your dad," Gibbs said knowingly.

"No _way_ would I go to him. Shoot, I'd never hear the end of it. He'd charge me the usual 20% rate on a loan. Like the Mafia's six-for-five loan sharks do."

Gibbs looked angry when he asked, "Your father get his problems straightened out?"

With a humorless laugh, Tony said, "Yeah, he made nice with whoever was after his ass, I guess. But don't worry, he'll step on somebody else's toes soon enough; it's the same old cycle. He drags people into these messes he makes and it's always somebody else who gets hurt. And it's never his fault. He doesn't care about anyone except himself," Tony said with disgust.

"He cared enough to send someone to protect you, Tony."

"Yeah, well, false alarm. Turns out the fire was put out before I even got to New York." Tony was quiet for a while and then said with a smile, "I'm glad we got to take the road trip. It was fun."

Gibbs snorted. "Sure, lots of fun. Lousy motels and diner food."

"I love diner food, and driving back roads, and going to the Stoogeum. God, that was weird."

"I can't believe I let you drag me to a museum for The Three Stooges." Gibbs tried hard not to crack a smile when he said, "You've got some _noive_ ," which had Tony rolling with laughter.

***–***

Gibbs had stretched the trip into three days, taking back roads mostly. It was the first time in months - since Shannon and Kelly had been killed - that he'd tolerated…no, that he'd _enjoyed_ someone's company. He'd found it strange at the time that he became attached to a college kid so fast – a young man with understanding green eyes, a good heart, and a bright future ahead of him. He remembered Tony's insolent, challenging ways, his truthful and inquisitive nature, and the annoying chatter that sometimes seemed as if it would never end.

And Gibbs also remembered that once Tony had been safely delivered to his aunt and uncle's doorstep, and he had hit the road again, how keenly he'd missed the young man. It was like losing a family member all over again, except, he reminded himself, this time it wasn't permanent.

He had said a quick good-bye, and had hugged Tony, quick and hard, then removed the clinging hands from around his waist and ran for the safety of his car.

It wasn't until he had been driving away, determined not to look back, that Gibbs had made the decision to take Mike Franks' offer of a job at NIS. Meeting Tony had been a turning point of sorts, had pushed Gibbs in the right direction. Maybe it was Tony's upbeat nature, or the way he had defiantly refused to give in to his father, but Tony had given Gibbs hope to combat the bleakness that he had allowed to become a defining factor in his life.

***–***

After they left Riverfront Stadium the two men stopped at a café before driving back to Columbus because Tony was, he swore, famished. Facing each other across the dark green laminate table, Tony dug into a burger and fries, while Gibbs had black coffee and a slice of apple pie.

"How is Colonel Hargrave doing these days? He send you out on any more jobs?" Tony said, in a deep voice, mimicking the colonel, "Men, adversity causes some men to break; others to break records."

Gibbs was amused at Tony remembering the quotes that Hargrave had drilled into the boys he taught. "I haven't heard from the colonel since right after you and I took our little road trip. Job was done and I walked away." Realizing that sounded dismissive, Gibbs added, "It was a favor, Tony, but one I enjoyed doing."

Tony dropped his gaze to his food, unable to hide his smile at Gibbs' admission. "I sorta wondered if you were doing a favor for the colonel or if it was the other way around. I think maybe you needed some company other than your own, you know?" He looked up and studied Gibbs' face, a little worried. "You doing okay now? Your knee is better; you're not limping any more."

"Yeah, I'm okay," Gibbs replied, a little uncomfortable that Tony was so observant. He had been grieving at the time he met Tony, angry at the world, every day a struggle. Unable to go back on active duty because of his damaged knee, Gibbs had been unsure about what to do with the rest of his life. With nothing better to fill his too-empty days, he'd accepted the bodyguard assignment when Hargrave had contacted him.

The colonel had also confided in Gibbs that he didn't want to see Tony dragged down by his father. "That boy needs a strong mentor, Gunny, if you're up for the job. I don't want that father of his to ruin all my hard work." Gibbs had begrudgingly agreed to escort Tony to his relatives' home, but he'd ended up gaining so much more than he'd signed on for. Getting to know Tony during their short time together had given Gibbs a much-needed push to make some decisions about his future.

Tony chewed on his burger and then asked, "So what've you been doing since I last saw you in May? You been doing bodyguard work?"

Gibbs chuckled. "No, you were the last body I guarded. I'm at NIS now. Except they went and changed the name to NCIS. It's the Naval Criminal Investi–."

Tony nodded and finished up Gibbs' sentence. "Investigative Service. I knew you were going to get that job, Gibbs. You're a Navy cop. That's great." He asked eagerly, "Are you a field investigator? You get to snoop around murder scenes? Foil terrorist plots?"

Gibbs recalled he'd mentioned to Tony that he was considering applying for a job with NIS. "Yeah, now I can officially stick my nose in other people's business," he said wryly.

"Are you the boss of your own unit?"

As the junior member of the team, Gibbs was stuck with lugging all the equipment to and from every crime scene, with Mike Franks barking orders at him, calling him Probie. "Uh, no, not anybody's boss."

Tony nodded confidently. "You will be."

Gibbs raised his eyebrows at the kid's confidence in his leadership skills, and said gruffly, "You seem pretty sure of that, DiNozzo."

Sticking a fry in his mouth, Tony said, "Yup." He ate a couple more fries and then grinned. "I can tell you'd make a good teacher. Got a lot of patience."

"A teacher?" Gibbs let out a huff of breath. He was hardly what you'd call patient where people were concerned. "Nah. Right now I'm a probie."

When they were on their road trip last spring, Gibbs had told Tony about some of his experiences as a sniper while in the Marines, as well as when he'd been an MP while at Camp Lejeune. He'd described to the interested young man about the processing of a crime scene and what an investigation entailed. He'd also told Tony a story or two about his experiences in the Corps as a gunnery sergeant, and then he'd started to talk about his tour in Desert Storm. That's when Gibbs had faltered and fallen into a quiet spell. The memories, the loss of his family, had been still too fresh to share with anyone at the time. After that, he'd concentrated on driving, and had let Tony do the talking.

***–***

The way that Gibbs had treated him during the journey had taught Tony a lot about the man. Gibbs had been curt at times, and had ordered him about, but he had also asked questions, and listened to what Tony had to say. Gibbs never talked down him - that was what Tony remembered best. He had also been kind in ways that mattered. For the first time in his life Tony spent time with an adult who had been genuinely interested in him as a person.

"You're good at watching out for people," said Tony, studying the older man sitting across the café table from him. Gibbs looked at him skeptically so Tony said, "Like when you drove me to New York."

"Wouldn't have been necessary if your father hadn't stirred up the local mob," said Gibbs, apparently still annoyed at Tony's father. "I was heading east anyway. Didn't mind the company," he said offhandedly.

Tony sent Gibbs a sideways look while he slurped his soda until there was nothing left but ice cubes in the bottom of the glass. He was pretty sure that Gibbs had enjoyed their trip to New York as much as he had, even if he wouldn't admit it aloud. "I think we got along pretty good. We found plenty of things to talk about to pass the time – sports and travel, and things we want to do before we die. I wish we could have driven forever," Tony said wistfully. He poked at the melted ice cubes with his straw, making a crunching sound.

"You mean _you_ talked. And talked." Gibbs moved Tony's glass out of his reach. "You want another soda or are you gonna play with it all day?"

Tony thought it was funny how easy it was to annoy Gibbs. He shook his head and pointed out, "Hey, you talked, too. You told me all about the Marines and about the rules. My dad always comes down on me for talking too much. He says it gets on his nerves." Gibbs made a huffing sound, indicating he agreed, which made Tony smile. "Not that you're any good at talking about movies or TV shows or anything interesting like that. Of course it isn't your fault you were deprived as a child and didn't even have a TV," Tony teased.

"Hey, we did, too." Tony raised his eyebrows to show his disbelief, so Gibbs said, "It was in the den and when I was a kid, it was my job to get up and adjust those rabbit ears when the reception got snowy."

"Name one show you watched," Tony challenged, drumming his fingers impatiently on the table.

"Uh…" Gibbs drank some coffee, obviously stalling for time. " _Rawhide_ ," he said, with a nod to say 'so there.'

"Gee, I must have missed that one. Too bad." Tony tried not to roll his eyes. "Anyway, as I recall, you did your share of gabbing until I spilled my chocolate shake all over you. Of course that wouldn't have happened if you hadn't swerved around that car that was going all of twenty miles an hour, just outside Harrisburg." It still puzzled Tony that Gibbs had taken it all in stride. He had pulled over without making any fuss, helped Tony clean up the spillage, and got the car back on the road – all without saying more than two words. Sure, he'd looked a little grim, but who wouldn't if you got a lapful of milkshake? "You know, it's funny," said Tony, frowning at Gibbs. "You never yelled at me or anything. My dad would have gone ballistic. I'd have been dumped by the side of the road and he'd be gone in a cloud of dust, never looking back."

"Sometimes you do test my patience, Tony, but it was an accident," Gibbs said, with a slightly exasperated shake of his head. "You're a smart kid, and I listen to what you have to say. Sometimes, some of it even makes sense." His smile eased the sarcasm in his voice.

Tony could feel his face turning pink so he dug into his meal to hide his discomfort, shrugging off the compliment even though it meant the world to him. It wasn't often anyone praised him, except maybe on the basketball court or when he was playing football. Girls sometimes said nice things after sex, but even though that made him feel good, Tony knew enough not to read too much into their words.

Gibbs tapped Tony's glass with his fork, making him look up. "Hell, you put up with my grousing, and didn't complain when I took coffee-and-piss stops every couple of hours for 500 miles, so I guess I could put up with your chatter."

Tony laughed and said, "In that case, don't forget to mention the snoring, and what a grouch you were in the morning. But it was worth it, Gibbs, except that…"

"What?"

"We didn't have to stop every couple of hours. It was every _hour_. Like clockwork."

Gibbs stared at Tony. "Was not."

"Every hour." Tony nodded.

Gibbs snorted.

"Could've set my watch to it," said Tony, suppressing a smile.

Gibbs growled under his breath and paid for the meal.

Once they were walking along the sidewalk towards Gibbs' car, Tony said, quite seriously, "You know what? Next time we go on a road trip, we'll take along one of those auto-johns, like the truckers have. They're really good for older guys who need to make pit stop every hour. You know what the packaging says: 'Fits all male connections.'" As Tony expected, a slap was delivered to the back of his head, but he really didn't mind.

***–*** end chapter 2 ***–***


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3 - Strange Moments**

...and that was the one distinct time in my life, the strangest moment of all, when I didn't know who I was…  
~ Jack Kerouac

 _December, 1991,_ _Columbus, Ohio_

"Hey, DiNozzo, there's a dude downstairs asking for you."

"For me?" A tube of hair gel in hand, Tony halted in mid-tweak of an errant lock of his hair, and turned away from the mirror. A glance at the clock told him it was 10:45. Sort of late for callers, even on a Saturday night. Cautiously he asked his roommate, Barry, "He isn't wearing a designer suit, is he?" He couldn't bring himself to ask outright if it was his father.

Arriving unannounced might be Senior's style, but not at a college dorm. If he wanted to meet, Dad would pick a neutral location, maybe an upscale restaurant in the city, the kind of establishment that loaned you a tie if you came to dinner without one. Seeing as Tony hadn't laid eyes on his father since last summer, and had only spoken to him, briefly and angrily, on the phone a couple of times since then, he doubted the visitor could be him.

Barry shook his head and leaned against the frame of the door that was open to the busy corridor. This was a big night with plenty of celebrations and parties going on and the dorm was pretty noisy. "No, he looks like…um…"

Tony asked, "Like what?"

Barry threw himself on his bed, not bothering to move any of his papers, clothing or other stuff strewn upon it. Tony's half of the room was neat, a by-product of his years at boarding and military schools; his friends had commented that all that order didn't seem to match the free-style ways of Tony DiNozzo. "He looks like a cop. You let another cow loose in the science lab, DiNozzo?"

A cop wanted to see him? Tony quickly cast his mind back to his recent activities and tried to think of anything that might warrant a cop looking for him. He shook his head and replied, "No, and I know this'll ruin my reputation, but I can't think of anything I've done wrong lately." If it were official business, wouldn't the man be at his door flashing a badge instead of waiting downstairs? "What'd he look like, other than a cop?"

"Wasn't wearing any uniform," Barry said helpfully. "He's all in gray. Gray suit, gray hair, and I'll bet that bulge under his jacket is a big gray gun."

Tony dabbed a little more gel on his hair and was about to ask for more details when there was a knock on the open door, and there stood the cop, as described, dressed all in gray. Startled, all Tony could take in was the man's blue eyes. "Gibbs." The name escaped Tony's lips, almost in a whisper. Then, louder, with a broad smile, he said, "Gibbs!"

Leroy Jethro Gibbs stood there for a minute, looking over Tony, his roommate and the small dorm room in what appeared to be a detached way. When his gaze slipped back to Tony and their eyes met once again, Gibbs gave a nod and a slight smile. "DiNozzo. Can we have a word?"

Realizing he was standing there like an idiot, grinning, with a tube of hair gel in hand, Tony shook himself. "Sure…sure." It then struck him that Gibbs may be bearing bad news and his heart did an uneven dance.

Gibbs must have seen the flash of fear in Tony's eyes because he immediately said, "Relax. I'm not here on business." He looked pointedly at Tony's roommate and back to the young man he'd come to see. "I'll take you for coffee."

It sounded like an order, but Tony didn't mind. After casually introducing Gibbs to his roomie, Tony grabbed his red and white Ohio State jacket and led the way downstairs and out. They had to shoulder their way through crowds of students, many of them in a celebratory mood and somewhat inebriated state. Several of the college kids patted Tony on the shoulder and congratulated him on that night's basketball win.

"There's a place a couple of miles from here," Tony suggested as soon as they made it outside and away from the dorm building. He pulled up his collar against the cold December air and said, almost apologetically, "I'm sorta hungry and it's the nearest place with real food. It's a diner, if that's okay."

"I'll drive then," Gibbs said, pointing in the direction of his car. "I'm not keeping you from any parties, am I?"

He was, but Tony didn't care. "I'd rather get some food."

The implication that he'd rather spend time with Gibbs was not lost on the older man. As they walked across the campus, Gibbs said, "Thought you had that apartment."

"It was only for the summer, and besides, this is where the actions is. I have to wait for a place to open in the frat house before I could move in. I'm pledged to Alpha Chi Delta but there are twice as many brothers as there are beds in the house."

Gibbs led the way to his car and as soon as they were on their way, he said, "Caught the last half of the game. You played well."

Glad that the interior of the car was so dark that Gibbs couldn't see the way his face reddened at the praise, Tony said, "Thanks."

"You cut it pretty close with your last layup, DiNozzo. You hot-dogging it there?"

"I was being blocked. If I coulda got a clean shot it would have made it in before the buzzer," Tony explained somewhat defensively. "It was 'cause it bounced on the rim. I didn't think it was going to go in, but then I heard the crowd cheering. That's when I knew it was good." It had been a good game, one of their best team efforts, he thought. "Coach Ayers said we needed to work together to beat the Tar Heels, and he was right. Did you see Prentiss' offensive moves? He was on top of his game tonight."

Gibbs nodded. "80 to 73. It was a solid game. Looks like you're a scrapper out there on the court." He glanced over at Tony and gave him a smile that was incrementally wider than the one that had accompanied his greeting in the dorm. "Glad I had the chance to finally see you in action, Tony."

Tony felt a combination of surprise, pride and satisfaction at Gibbs' words. He said quietly, "I'm glad you could come."

***–***

Once they were at the diner and seated opposite each other, the two men perused the menu and then ordered. Gibbs wasn't much of a conversationalist but he was content to listen to Tony. The younger man kept up his end while they waited for their food, talking about that night's game, sports, and college life in general. After their food came – roast chicken with rice and black beans, and a large cup of black coffee for Gibbs, two sides of fries, and a huge plate of spaghetti Bolognese, along with a glass of milk for Tony – they ate in silence for a while.

The last time Gibbs had seen Tony was at the end of the summer, when he'd taken Tony to a ballgame and they'd spent the next day hanging out – with Tony that meant spending half the time eating – before Gibbs had to head back to DC. It was then that Gibbs had vowed to make an effort to visit Tony whenever he could.

It was obvious the boy needed a father figure, just as Col. Hargrave had pointed out. Instead of being a stand-in for Senior, the thought of which didn't sit well with Gibbs, he decided he'd be a friend to Tony. He could do that, be there for him for advice or whatever, be a constant for a long time to come. Before he left, Gibbs had told Tony of his intention, though not in so many words. Just said that he'd visit when he could, that the demands of his job made it tough but he'd like to come back during football season, if Tony would like that.

Tony had stared at him for so long that Gibbs had thought he'd said the wrong thing, although for the life of him couldn't figure out what it was. Then Tony had smiled, his mouth slowly dawning into a great big grin, and he'd simply said, "Cool."

Now, surreptitiously inspecting Tony across the diner table, Gibbs found he looked good, healthy. The first time he'd met Tony, in that rundown apartment he'd called home, the kid had been underfed and almost gawky – but no longer. Now he seemed happy and more confident, too. It was apparent that Tony had packed on some muscle from all the sports he was involved in. He was tall and lean and, to Gibbs, seemed made for basketball, or swimming or track, rather than football. He'll get killed out on the football field, thought Gibbs, his gut churning unexpectedly.

The diner was busy considering the late hour, and the waitresses, hard-working women who called everyone 'honey', worked briskly and efficiently. A couple of college girls who were on their way out stopped at the table when they saw Tony, and he flirted with them without breaking a sweat. Gibbs sat back and watched the young man at work, keeping his amusement to himself. There was no doubt that Tony was as practiced with girls as he was with shooting hoops. When the girls reluctantly said good night and left, Gibbs wondered, if he hadn't been present, which one of them would have been warming Tony's bed that night. Maybe both?

After he'd left Tony with his relatives in New York, Gibbs had thought about Tony occasionally, and wondered how he was doing. He'd been busy though, was recruited by NIS and relocated to DC, but even so, Gibbs had occasionally discreetly checked on Tony's progress. For some reason, he felt responsible for the young man. Even if DiNozzo Sr. had been worried enough to arrange for Gibbs to act as Tony's bodyguard, the man was almost entirely absent from Tony's life. Kids needed someone to be there for them, even kids going on nineteen who thought they were tough as nails and could manage on their own.

Like Col. Hargrave had said, Tony needed a steady adult in his life, a mentor, if nothing else, and so Gibbs took on the job. He liked the kid, he admitted to himself. No, he wasn't responsible for him; Tony wasn't his son. But they'd made a connection during their brief time together, and he had a feeling that by simply making himself available to Tony, it would make a huge difference in Tony's life. And a difference to his own life as well, he expected. Gibbs realized that he didn't mind the good feeling that gave him, not at all.

Tony pushed his food around on his plate, seemingly preoccupied. After a while he asked, "What made you come to the game? And out to eat with me?"

Gibbs drank some coffee and then said matter-of-factly, "I was hungry."

Tony looked up in disbelief at the too-simple explanation. "Oh, so you just happened to be in the neighborhood?"

Gibbs smiled sheepishly. "I really was in the area. Finished a job at the Naval Station Great Lakes and was heading to DC. Thought I'd see how you're doing."

Tony scrutinized Gibbs' face for a long moment but he seemed satisfied with what he saw and went back to eating. At Tony's prompting, Gibbs talked a bit about one of the NCIS investigations he'd worked on recently. Tony asked questions as if he were an investigator on the case and made some astute observations.

Even though Tony had almost driven him crazy with his chatter during that long drive from Ohio to New York, once they had gone their separate ways, Gibbs had missed him a lot more than he would have expected. He put it down to having been lonely. Gibbs had barely spoken to anyone since he'd been notified of the deaths of Shannon and Kelly, but he'd opened up a little to Tony, and within the short time they'd spent together that crack had widened considerably. Now, sitting opposite the young man, just talking and sharing a meal, made him feel good, like he was at home.

Gibbs had gone out of his way to look into DiNozzo's dealings after he'd joined NCIS and he had not liked what he'd found out. Not that he was going to reveal any of his findings to Tony. He hoped the older DiNozzo had learned to keep his business problems under control, if only to prevent putting Tony in further danger. At some point the conversation Gibbs had an opening to ask something he'd been wondering about. "Does your dad often come to your games?"

Tony stopped eating and became very still, all emotion draining from his face, his eyes darkening. His eyes dropped and he appeared to be concentrating on something very interesting on his plate, but Gibbs could see a muscle twitching in his jaw. It was such a change from the animated young man of only a few seconds earlier that Gibbs was concerned. "Hey, Tony, you okay?" He reached out and touched Tony's chin with a couple of fingers, gently urging him to look up.

Tony's green eyes, usually so expressive, were flat. It was as if he didn't even see Gibbs, they were so blank and far away. As quickly as he'd changed from vibrant to lifeless, Tony changed back to his usual outgoing self with a quick smile. He shook his head. "No, sports aren't his thing. Besides, he's really busy with work and everything. He travels a lot, you know? I ever tell you he took me to Hawaii once, when I was a kid?"

Gibbs shook his head, wondering what it was that he'd just witnessed.

Tony helped himself to a couple of fries from Gibbs' plate, so casually that Gibbs knew it was a habit. "I really like this place," said Tony. "Great atmosphere, don't you think? Hey, have you ever seen the film _Diner_? It's about a group of high school buddies from Baltimore who meet up over the holidays in 1959 and hang out in a diner like this."

If Gibbs hadn't seen Tony's transformation with his own eyes he never would have known that there was something going on with him. That the mere mention of Tony's father had changed Tony so drastically was troublesome, to say the least. Witnessing those few seconds of withdrawal chilled Gibbs to the core.

Gibbs watched the young man sitting across from him as he started a discourse on a film. If any of that troubled Tony was in there, it was well hidden. He wondered if Tony even knew how his expression had changed, how his whole body had tensed up. Had it been a flash of something dark in an otherwise sunny disposition, or was it possible that Tony could be concealing his true dark self with a fresh, shiny face that he put on for the public? No, if that were the case, he would have seen it when they were on that road trip; they'd been together for three solid days. They'd gotten to know each other, as much as was possible in that time, anyway.

"There's no coherent plot, really," Tony said, pushing his plate away and leaning back in the booth. "It's episodic, concentrates on character, but there's this great scene when the friends take bets on whether a regular customer, this huge guy, can eat his way through the entire menu."

Gibbs knew, all too well, the price of living a lie, of acting as if everything was fine when all he wanted to do was let it all out, to yell, to strike out, to hurt somebody. He'd become used to hiding his true self, and it was second nature now, but he'd seen a war's worth of death and senseless cruelty. His family had been murdered…taken from him. Gibbs felt emotion squeeze his heart, both for the loss of his wife and child, and with worry over whatever Tony was going through on his own. What had happened to him to make him like that, to bottle everything up? Gibbs had had a bad feeling about DiNozzo Sr. since their first phone contact and his uneasiness about the man had only grown worse since then.

Tony waved his fork in the air as he spoke. "So this guy has to eat his way through appetizers, side dishes, pancakes, pork chops, pies and everything. There's a hundred things on that menu. These friends spend hours eating greasy food, drinking bad coffee and arguing over movies, music and women. Great film."

Whatever had come over Tony, it was long gone and apparently not about to make another appearance. When Tony reached for another of Gibbs' fries, Gibbs pushed the plate closer to him. "You always this hungry? Go ahead. Finish them up."

Tony nodded. "Thanks, I'm always really hungry after a game. I can't decide if I'm going to pursue basketball or football but I've already had a football scout approach me." He leaned forward eagerly. "I don't care so long as I get a chance at a sports career. Coach says I need to weigh my options carefully."

"There's nothing wrong with having dreams, Tony. Your coach sounds like a man with a head on his shoulders. You should listen to his advice." He'd better check on Tony and make sure he had someone to talk to, especially if what his gut told him about Tony's father was right, that Senior was not only one selfish bastard, but something far worse.

"I'd listen to you, Gibbs, if you've got any advice to give me."

"Keep up your studies. Even jocks need to use their brains." Gibbs handed Tony his card, even though he'd made sure he'd had his numbers when they'd parted last May. "I'm only a phone call away. Day or night."

Tony stared at the card and then put it away safely in his pocket. He said in a quiet voice, "Thanks, Gibbs. That means a lot to me." In the blink of an eye Tony hid his serious side away just as if he'd tucked his feelings in his pocket alongside Gibbs' business card. His face lit up once again. "Anyway, in _Diner_ , one of the guys gives his fiancée a football test. Over a hundred questions on it. If she doesn't get a good score he won't marry her." Tony laughed and slapped the table. "It's virtually impossible to get a perfect score. You can tell he's setting her up to fail." He shook his head at the stupidity and the cleverness of it all.

"Maybe I should get hold of a copy of that test," Gibbs said with a wry smile. "Might come in handy."

"Hell, I don't care if a girl knows about football or not, so long as she'll make out during half-time," he said with a laugh. Tony changed gears again, saying, almost shyly, "We have a game in Charlottesville in two weeks. Not too far from you."

Gibbs couldn't promise anything, particularly as he knew that if he couldn't attend due to work, more than a promise would be broken. "I'd like to come but if I'm on a case…Look, I'll try, Tony."

Their eyes met and Tony seemed to be searching for something in Gibbs' face. Gibbs caught a glimpse of some of that seriousness he'd seen before, but this time there didn't seem to be anything dark hidden behind it. After a moment Tony nodded. "I don't expect any promises. All I ask is that you try."

***–***

Gibbs turned off the engine but neither of them made any move to get out of the car. "Guess I'll head back to the motel. Have to leave at the crack of dawn."

"Back to the old grind?" Tony asked.

"It's a tough job sometimes. Not the work, but the people, the victims…"

Tony didn't know what to say to that. "Thanks for everything, Gibbs."

Gibbs shrugged. "Just a meal. Glad I could come though, and get a chance to see you play."

"Thanks for that, too. Next time, let me know you're in the audience and maybe I can score a hoop for you," Tony said with a grin.

"Will do." Gibbs cleared his throat and said, "Look, I've been thinking, maybe you could visit for Christmas break." He reached into his jacket pocket and handed Tony an envelope.

Tony carefully opened it. There was an airline ticket in there, a round-trip to DC for the 22nd of December. He stared at it, suddenly feeling overwhelmed, his eyes pricking.

"Unless you have other plans," Gibbs said in an offhand manner that Tony knew full well was anything but casual. He could read Gibbs pretty well by now which, he had a feeling, was quite an achievement.

"No, no plans." Tony stared at the ticket.

"You're not going to visit your dad?" prompted Gibbs.

"Uh, no. Dad's going to the Caymans with his buddies. I was gonna put in some extra hours at work but they shut down the health center for the week." Tony had been prepared to be alone during the holidays, which was nothing unusual. He had planned on having his own private Magnum marathon on Christmas Day. All of his precious Magnum episodes had been left behind in New York when he'd split from his father's house, but he had finally replaced all his videos from a kid on campus who sold bootleg copies. Tony realized that Gibbs was looking at him intently, so he cleared his throat and said, "I'd like to come and visit for Christmas, Gibbs."

Gibbs continued to stare at him, to the point where Tony was becoming uncomfortable. But then Gibbs made a small sound as if he, too, was clearing his throat, and he said, "Good. That's settled," and he smiled.

Tony smiled back, suddenly feeling very happy. He picked up a white cardboard box that sat on the seat between them. "You sure you don't want to take this pie with you back to the motel? Late night snack? It was a really good pie."

At that moment Gibbs looked over at him and their eyes met. "It's good," he said.

Not quite sure whether Gibbs was referring to his impending visit or the taste of the apple pie as being good, Tony realized it didn't matter. "Yeah, it's good," he agreed. Tony opened the car door and got out, taking the pie with him. He ducked to look once more time at Gibbs. "You gonna be all right, Gibbs?"

Gibbs smiled back at him. "Yeah. I think I _am_ all right, Tony, just fine."

***–*** end chapter 3 ***–***


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4 - The Difference**

I don't know, I don't care, and it doesn't make any difference.  
~ Jack Kerouac

_November, 1992, Columbus, Ohio_

Gibbs finally made it to one of his games after canceling three times. On two occasions he'd called to say he was stuck in the middle of a case; the third time he simply didn't show up as planned. Gibbs phoned Tony a couple of days later, sounding tired, to say he'd got tied up but would try to make it to the next game. He never explained what had prevented him from coming but Tony figured it was work related.

When Gibbs finally made it to a game, it was to see Tony playing like a champion, making a stunning touchdown and showing those Wolverines exactly who was the best team. Unfortunately, in the last quarter, a University of Michigan linebacker tackled Tony DiNozzo, sideswiping him in front of thousands of fans and taking him down hard. Tony never saw it coming.

The game against the Buckeyes' longtime rivals ended in a tie but before it was even wrapped up, Tony's unconscious body was loaded onto an ambulance. He was on his way to Columbus General with a broken leg and concussion.

***–***

The first thing to return was his vision, although it was decidedly fuzzy. The second thing to come back was sound: beeping machines, someone barking orders and the bustling activity that could not be mistaken for anything except for the controlled havoc of an emergency room. Hard on the heels of sight and sound came pain – a lot of pain. Tony groaned and lifted his head but he was immediately held down by a firm hand on his shoulder.

Emergency room. Fuck! In place of his football gear was a flimsy gown. There was a needle stuck in his arm, and oxygen was being fed through tubes placed in his nostrils. Damn, he hated those things. Tony tried to remove the offensive tubing but someone took hold of his forearm and held it tightly by his side. He blinked a few times to clear his vision and saw a man's face hovering over him. Tanned face, gray hair, worried expression, blue eyes. "Gibbs?"

"Yeah, it's me, Tony. Stop touching stuff."

He tried to nod, swallowed hard and twisted to one side as his stomach lurched. Pain ripped through his leg and he immediately threw up. There was a basin held under his face and a strong, supportive arm doing all the heavy lifting, and then there was a plastic cup with water to rinse out his mouth. When it was over he collapsed on his back and someone wiped off his sweaty face with a damp cloth. God, it was Gibbs, tending to him like taking care of a college kid who was puking his guts out was his regular job. Tony was deeply embarrassed. "I'm fine." The moan that followed, along with tears brought on by the agonizing pain in his left leg, put an end to any pretense of being fine. "Shit, m-my leg," he panted.

A nurse injected the contents of a couple of syringes of meds into Tony's line and after a while the pain receded enough so that he could open his eyes. Gibbs was still there, and he was holding Tony's hand in his firm, warm grip.

"Fracture of the left fibula. Could be worse," announced the doctor, unaware of how unsympathetic he sounded. Or maybe he just didn't care. The doc went on about procedures and hospitalization but Tony couldn't retain any of the clinical jargon that droned on and on. Instead, he let the drugs sweep him away; he closed his eyes and shut out the bright lights, the doctor and his attendants.

He effectively shut out Gibbs, too, who had been looking down at him with emotions that didn't belong in his eyes – concern and something else that was indefinable. It was probably disappointment. Tony didn't want Gibbs to look at him like that, like he'd messed up, even if he had.

If Gibbs looked at him too closely Tony was afraid he'd see the fear he was struggling to hide deep inside. A broken leg meant an end to playing the rest of the season and, worse, it meant he'd miss his one chance to impress the scouts. Now he'd never make it to the pros. Never even get the chance he'd dreamed of, to prove himself, to Gibbs, even to his father. Not that he cared about what Dad thought. Not really. Just wanted the old man to admit he was wrong.

***–***

Tony slowly opened his eyes and looked around, trying to get his bearings. His brain felt like it was drowning in heavy syrup, reeling in slow motion. It slowly came back to him. The game. Sacked. Hospital. Shit, he had a broken leg. They'd said something about operating on it.

It was nighttime and he was in a brightly lit hospital room in Columbus, his leg encased in a cast and raised in a sling-type contraption. It throbbed badly, pain lurking just beneath the surface, muffled a bit by medications but still all-too apparent.

There, beside his bed, sat Gibbs. Tony blinked heavily and licked his dry lips.

Gibbs, clad in jeans and sweatshirt, poured a glass of water and angled a straw into Tony's mouth. After drinking, Tony lay back with a small grunt. Gibbs was standing still, like he was at attention on a parade ground. What was he looking at?

Gibbs frowned down at him. "How're you doing, Tony?"

Oh yeah, he was just fucking great, he thought. Tony took a calming breath. "Leg sorta aches." It was hard to speak and his voice sounded rough.

"How's your head?"

It was then that Tony realized he had a bad headache and his eyes hurt, too. Damn, a concussion. "Can you turn off the lights?" He raised his hand and it wasn't hard to locate the lump on the back of his skull. Only so much a helmet can do when a couple of 250-pound Wolverines take you down at the same time. He ran his hand across his ribs, making sure they weren't broken. They were damned sore though, especially when he breathed deeply.

Gibbs turned off the overhead lights, leaving on a bedside lamp. He pulled up a padded chair and settled in it, facing Tony, close enough that he could touch him, though he didn't.

After a while Tony said, "You don't have to stay, you know."

"I know."

Tony checked Gibbs out from the corner of his eye. The older man appeared relaxed, not really waiting for anything, more like he was hanging out. He kept his eyes on Tony most of the time, which was puzzling, because Gibbs wasn't looking at him like he expected him to speak, or perform, or confess. He seemed patient, almost content. Another weird thing to muse over. Tony's eyes roved around the room and then up the IV pole with its two half-empty bags that were feeding clear liquids into his arm through some tubing. Whatever was in them seemed to be working because he was feeling lightheaded and sort of out of it.

When he rolled his head on the pillow and met Gibbs' blue eyes again Tony felt compelled to say something. "You've got nice eyes, Gibbs." Shit, he hadn't meant to say that, but after a beat Gibbs bowed his head slightly as if in thanks.

"Same back at you, DiNozzo," Gibbs said with a twist to the corner of his mouth.

"I mean, you pretend to be all mean Marine but you're a nice guy."

"Huh," Gibbs said, apparently not impressed.

"You don't have to stay with me."

"You said that already, Tony. I know I don't have to. I _want_ to."

That made Tony feel warm inside but, as usual, he couldn't let well enough alone. "My father should be here soon. I'll be fine." He peered at the open doorway expectantly.

Gibbs' face settled into a mask of sorts, like he was angry and trying to conceal it. Tony wondered what he'd said to make him look like that.

Gibbs shifted in the chair as if it was suddenly uncomfortable and cleared his throat. "I phoned your father as soon as you got out of surgery. He can't make it."

Tony had known that his father wouldn't come, but on some level he'd hoped that for once his old man would show he cared, even a little bit. "Oh." What was there to say? He nodded and looked away, trying to hide the stupid tears that pricked at his eyelids. "Yeah, he's really busy with work, you know. He can't just drop everything he's doing 'cause I messed up…"

Gibbs leaned forward and placed a hand on Tony's shoulder. It was a simple gesture, and it was Gibbs' way of confirming that at least _he_ was there, and said quite clearly that he wasn't about to leave anytime soon. "You didn't mess up, Tony."

But Tony knew he had messed up and no amount of denying the facts was going to change them. "We lost the game?" He had a feeling someone had already told him the final score but he'd been too out of it to recall.

Gibbs sat back and his hand dropped away, leaving Tony feeling lonely and rather small.

"Tied, 13 to 13. It was a close game," Gibbs said. "And you did not mess up. You were sacked by that Wolverine, what's his name…Brad Pitt, and another linebacker. Nobody could have taken that kind of battering and walked off the field. You made a good move but they made a better play. It happens."

Tony looked at Gibbs, expecting to discover that he was lying. Except that Gibbs didn't lie, not as far as he knew. Tony had always been pretty good at reading people, though Gibbs was a tough one to see through most of the time. It took practice and intuition mostly, and Gibbs let his guard down a little more every time they met. Surprisingly, the ex-Marine seemed to be telling the truth. Or he believed what he was saying, anyway, so he could simply be delusional. "I'll be back on my feet and playing in a few weeks," Tony said bravely.

"Eight weeks plus therapy," Gibbs said without sugarcoating the facts. "You need time to heal properly or you'll get injured again, and then where will you be?"

"The season'll be over by then." It hit Tony that he'd missed his chance, his _only_ chance, to show the scouts what he could do. If he didn't make it into the pros he'd end up in the gutter, or worse – working for his old man. God, that would _kill_ him. Even though Tony would never agree to work for his father, that was what the old man kept pushing for, all the time treating Tony like he didn't know what he was talking about, patronizing him and insisting, 'Of course you'll work for me, Junior.'

***–***

After spending an uneventful but surprisingly happy Christmas last year with Gibbs, Tony had taken a trip to New York to see his dad. Going into it, Tony had been hopeful, but in hindsight he clearly saw how stupid he'd been, willfully blind, and he'd literally smacked himself on the back of the head for being such a fucking idiot.

It was all Gibbs' fault. It was because of him that Tony had thought that there might be a chance of reconciling with his father. Being in Gibbs' company had suckered Tony into believing that there were people out there who might actually care. He had thought that if only he could get together with his dad, just talk to him, let him know that he had his own hopes and dreams, that Dad would see the light. Senior would turn to Junior with a smile on his face and he'd pat his back and say, "I wish you all the best, son." He might even say, "I love you," though Tony knew that was just a fantasy.

So his father had taken him out to dinner and they'd made it through the meal without any harsh words. No tables were tossed, no punches were thrown. Senior had even seemed interested in some of Tony's ideas about his future, and hadn't talked down to him, not even once. And when his father had started up again about how he expected Tony to come to work for him, Tony had been so relieved that his dad was actually talking to him that he had smiled and sort of, maybe, possibly agreed. Dumb. Just plain dumb, DiNozzo.

Within a week of returning to Ohio State, dear old Dad had sent Tony paperwork to fill out so he could transfer to some fancy university back east. Tony had never agreed to leaving OSU; the subject hadn't even come up so he ignored his father's attempt to orchestrate his future. Letters arrived covered in post-its directing him to 'sign here' and when Tony dumped the heavy volume of _The_ _Encyclopedia of TV Trivia_ on top of the papers and put them out of his mind – he was concentrating on studying for exams and didn't have any extra brain cells to spare – he started to get phone calls. Some were from his father, some from the secretary his dad was currently sleeping with. She called him _Antony_ , totally disregarding that there was an 'h' in his name, and that he'd told her repeatedly that his name was Tony.

Tired of being pestered, Tony went out and bought an answering machine, and put a message on it that announced to callers, 'I can't come to the phone right now because I'm playing with my balls. Leave a message at the beep.' If the message wasn't from Gibbs, Tony deleted it.

One day he absent-mindedly picked up the phone when it rang and was confronted by his father's angry voice. They had a huge fight and just to get him to back off, Tony said. "I'll think about it." Somehow the old man had translated that to mean that Tony was giving in and that he'd change his major to business. It was too late for that, but Tony just let Senior think whatever the hell he wanted.

***–***

Tony moved restlessly in the hospital bed. "I need to get back to the team…"

"Your father wanted to make arrangements for you to go back to New York," said Gibbs, his voice low with disapproval.

"I can't." Tony struggled to sit up a bit but failed, falling back with a groan of frustration. "You don't understand, Gibbs. It'll kill me if I have to go back there. I'll be under his rule for the rest of my life," Tony moaned.

Gibbs reached over to where Tony's hand clung to the bed's safety railing and squeezed his fingers gently. "Hey, it's okay. I told him you can't be moved."

"You did?"

"Sure did. No point in dragging you across the country. I told him you were right where you should be."

Tony was overcome by Gibbs sticking up for him like that, and his eyes started to water. He turned away from Gibbs' piercing gaze and swiped at his eyes, hating that Gibbs was seeing him like this. He tried to withdraw his hand but Gibbs didn't let go of it.

"Things'll look brighter in the morning, Tony."

Tony doubted that very much. Here he was, his sports career pretty much shot, or postponed if you wanted to wear rose-colored glasses. One broken leg. Check. One broken head. Check. One life that was messed up big time. Double-check. How could Gibbs still believe in him after all that? But, for some reason that Tony didn't understand, he did.

After a while Tony said in a small voice, "I guess…maybe the swim team."

"There's soccer. And wrestling."

Tony didn't reply for a long time. He closed his eyes, fully expecting for Gibbs to be gone when he opened them again, and was surprised to find he was still there, vigilant as always. Tony played with the edge of the blanket and licked his lips, and after a while he said tentatively, "Maybe while my leg is healing I can do some sportscasting for the college radio station. I did some basketball commentating at WOSU in my freshman year." It wasn't the same as playing football, though. Man, this whole thing sucked. Except for Gibbs being there. He didn't know what he'd do without Gibbs.

"Good idea. You do any boxing, DiNozzo?"

"No." He could picture Gibbs in the ring, gloves held high, jabbing, striking his opponent with powerful blows. Tony cringed, picturing himself being beaten to the mat, face pressed to the canvas. "Did you learn to box in the Marines?"

Gibbs seemed amused by the question. "No, the Marines don't teach you how to box. They teach you how to fight. I learned boxing at our local boys club back home."

Tony was tired but he didn't want to stop talking with Gibbs. "You think you can teach me how to fight sometime, Gibbs?" He blinked heavily, barely able to keep his eyes open. He wondered where back home was for Gibbs. He pictured a small town, somewhere like Mayberry. Pop ran the general store, Mom stayed home and baked pies. A pot of fresh coffee always stood on the stove.

"Sure, Tony. I'll teach you. You need to get some sleep because the nurse will be in to check on you every couple of hours. Get some rest while you can."

"Okay." His moved his hand, resting it on his stomach. Gibbs' calloused hand was on top of it, warm and heavy. "You goin' home now?" Tony mumbled.

"I told you I'm not going anywhere." Tony's eyes closed but as he drifted off to sleep he heard Gibbs say softly, "You can't get rid of me that easy, kid."

"That's good 'cause I need someone to watch over me." Even with his eyes shut, Tony managed a goofy grin as he said softly, "Follow my lead, oh, how I need…someone to watch over me." He roused himself enough to look at Gibbs once more, serious this time. "You gonna be my bodyguard again, Gibbs?"

"Always, Tony," Gibbs said under his breath. Then he ordered gruffly, "Go to sleep." He sat by the bedside with Tony's hand resting in his own. Gibbs sighed deeply as the young man succumbed to sleep. The sight of Tony's pale face, the slight downturn of his mouth put there because his dreams for the future had been cruelly dashed, tugged at Gibbs' heart. He had a feeling Tony was going to need him more than ever now, and he swore that he wouldn't let him down.

***–*** end chapter 4 ***–***


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5 - The Direction**

What's in store for me in the direction I don't take?  
~ Jack Kerouac

_December, 1992, Columbus, Ohio_

The two flights of stairs in the OSU dorm were a bitch to negotiate with his leg in a cast but Tony climbed up and down them several times a day. With every step he cursed the Wolverine linebacker who'd broken his leg. Okay, it wasn't all Pitt's fault; Tony had finally accepted some of the blame for the risky move he'd made on the field, the one that was going to cost him a chance at a pro career. Now nobody wanted him, he thought morosely. It had helped – a lot – that Gibbs had stayed by his side for two whole days when he was in the hospital. Eventually Gibbs had to leave and Tony returned to class.

Tony struggled with his temporary handicap, refusing to admit defeat when faced with a few lousy stairs. The upside was that there were plenty of cute girls who didn't mind carrying his backpack for him, or bringing food to his dorm room, but he still had to get to class. He couldn't take anything but the mildest of painkillers and his leg ached like crazy; for some reason it hurt the worst at about two in the morning. He was getting around okay until an advisor caught him falling down the last couple of steps at Nathaniel Hall, crutches flying, when he was hurrying to his biology class.

The college was concerned about liability and immediately sought alternate, ground-floor housing for him. Nothing was available in any of the dorms but, as fate would have it, one of Tony's Alpha Chi Delta - AXΔ - brothers had just left on an overseas exchange program, and a room in the frat house immediately became available. He figured that someone must have pulled some strings to get him in there because there was a waiting list a mile long.

Once Tony moved in with his Alpha Chi Delta frat brothers a whole new world opened up to him; a broken leg was not going to hold him back. Parties, booze, games, pranks, freedom, fun – and girls in and out at all hours even though there were house rules that said no visitors after 10 PM on weeknights. Apparently rules were not a priority with his frat brothers.

They were the best, his brothers, all eleven of them crammed into the big old Victorian house on the edge of campus that was christened 'Chaos Hall'. Never mind that there was faulty plumbing and a leaky roof, and the kitchen smelled like mice had died in the walls. There wasn't much privacy, and it was noisy and chaotic and not easy to concentrate on studies, but there was always someone to talk to 24 hours a day for support and simple camaraderie. These were not just roommates or fellow students, as far as Tony was concerned. They were brothers. It was just like having his own family – a big, rowdy, all-male family. To Tony, it was heaven.

***–***

_February, 1993, Columbus, Ohio_

"Hey DiNozzo, Salt-and-Pepper is out front, asking for you!"

Unlike the first time Leroy Jethro Gibbs had come to campus, Tony was expecting him. He smiled at the nickname that his frat brother gave Gibbs, but when he saw the scowl on the NCIS special agent's face Tony realized that Gibbs didn't like the reference to his graying hair.

Gibbs hunched his shoulders against the cold winter wind and growled, "You gonna let me in, DiNozzo, or do I have to join the brotherhood first?"

Tony opened the front door wide in invitation. "There's a secret handshake but if I show it to you I'd have to kill you." He couldn't help grinning at the trouble the older man was having, retaining a dark expression. When Gibbs clapped Tony on his shoulder in greeting, Tony hugged him in a hard, spontaneous gesture. It only lasted a few seconds but as they parted a broad smile emerged on Gibbs' face. "C'mon in," Tony invited, heading off to his room.

***–***

Gibbs followed Tony, and noticed that he looked healthy, even if he had a limp. He seemed happy, too, which was good. Back in December, when Tony had come to DC for Christmas for the second year in a row, he had been on crutches, despondent about his broken leg and missed chances. They'd made the most of their time though. The two men took in a hockey game, did some target practice at the range, and together they managed to make a decent home-cooked Christmas dinner without burning down Gibbs' house.

Tony had even talked Gibbs into going to the movies, a film about Charlie Chaplin that Tony enjoyed. It had taken a lot of prodding before Gibbs would admit that he'd thought the movie was "not bad." Gibbs discovered that he liked baiting Tony, acting all gruff just to see what the young man would do to try to lighten the mood. By the time Tony had headed back to Ohio he'd seemed in better spirits, and conversely Gibbs felt a bit down, missing Tony's company before Tony had even boarded the plane.

Gibbs removed his jacket and looked around with interest at Tony's room. It was small, neat and clean with a bed taking up half the room. Textbooks and papers were piled high on a small desk; a bicycle, a set of weights, and a too-large TV occupied the rest of the precious space. The walls were covered with posters of sports figures and bikini-clad women, and a bulletin board was overloaded with photos of friends, scribbled notes, postcards and an OSU pennant.

Gibbs reached out and opened a get-well card pinned to the board, being nosy. It said, in neat handwriting, 'Next time I'm down you can kick me, DiNozzo. Go Wolverines!'

"That's from Brad Pitt," Tony explained. "Here, sit," he said, sweeping a jacket and a couple of textbooks off the only chair in the room. Tony threw himself on his bed that was jammed up against the wall, and leaned back on one elbow, his long legs dangling off the edge.

"Pitt? That the guy who broke your leg?" Gibbs sat in the chair and found his knees almost touched the bed. He moved the chair slightly so he wouldn't crowd Tony but he didn't really have anywhere to go.

"Yeah, the Wolverine. Nice of him to send the card." Tony smiled a little, apparently not one to hold a grudge even though that game had ended his dream of a pro football career.

"How is it?"

"My leg?" Tony shrugged. "Okay. Got the cast off a week ago."

"You exercising it?" Gibbs hoped it didn't come across that he was interrogating the young man, but he felt compelled to voice his concerns. Tony had been pretty much on his own for several years now and could take care of himself. Still, Tony needed to know that someone was concerned about his wellbeing and that he could always go to Gibbs.

Tony's father wasn't paying the bills, Gibbs knew. He had looked into it discreetly and found out that Senior hadn't seen his son for almost a year. The fact that Mr. DiNozzo hadn't even turned up when his only son was hospitalized, with a leg broken so badly that it required surgery, spoke volumes.

Tony didn't seem to mind Gibbs questioning him. He replied nonchalantly, "Yeah, I'm working on strengthening my leg. Started physical therapy but I know the drill and I'd rather do it on my own. I missed the rest of the football season though." Tony's face lost its animation when he talked about his curtailed career but when he changed the subject he lit up again. "Hey, I'm going to Panama City for spring break! I went last year with my frat brothers and we had a blast. You ever been there, Jethro?"

Gibbs said, "Been to Pensacola. NCIS has an office there."

"Uh, I hate to break it to you but that's not exactly the same thing. Don't you take any time off? You know, lay back on a beach, have some fun and take in the pretty girls." Tony gently prodded Gibbs' leg with his foot and wiggled his eyebrows. "Boy, did we ever have a great time last year. Hot sun, hot bands and even hotter girls!"

When he was about Tony's age Gibbs was in the Marines and was saving his pennies so he could get married. "No time for vacations," Gibbs said, shaking his head. Lately he'd been busy working cases, taking courses at FLETC, and learning everything he could from Special Agent Franks during their long hours investigating crimes. Gibbs loved his job – everything except the loss of life. He wasn't used to seeing civilians being killed. Lately he'd been working on short undercover assignments, and now they were talking about sending him overseas. That was one of the reasons he'd come to see Tony but now he was here he didn't quite know how to bring it up.

Tony's lips parted in a rare, open smile, and those hazel-green eyes crinkled at the corners as he told Gibbs about the carousing that had gone on in Panama City. Gibbs had spent a lot of time thinking about Tony recently and how Tony looked up to him as a father figure. God no, he was nothing like Tony's absent father. He was more along the lines of a big brother to Tony, or perhaps he could be cast in the role of an older, more experienced friend. Yeah, that seemed right. Gibbs realized that Tony had been talking about his upcoming spring break plans, and he'd missed most of it.

Tony sat up and lightly slapped at Gibbs' knee. "You're not gonna stay single all your life, are you?" The young man's tone was light but there was a bit of concern in his expression.

Tony didn't know about Shannon, and Gibbs wasn't about to tell him, either. It was one of those topics he never mentioned, and just thinking about his family brought pain to Gibbs' heart. "Yeah, well, it's hard to meet anyone because I spend all of my free time visiting this kid I know at Ohio State," Gibbs said with a straight face. When Tony's face fell Gibbs knew he'd said the wrong thing. "Hey," he said, reaching out and touching Tony's leg. "I like to visit, to see how you're doing." Apparently his words were taken as the apology he intended because Tony nodded.

"Besides," Gibbs added, "I travel enough for work. And, uh, I am sort of seeing someone." He hadn't told anyone yet that he was dating a woman he'd met through work. Gibbs looked at his hands and admitted, "I only met her recently but we've gone out a few times." His stomach sort of clenched when he thought about making a future with this woman, a woman who wasn't Shannon. Everything inside of him, his thoughts and feelings, his very _heart_ , were entwined with guilt and regret, and Gibbs possessed little hope that he would find someone he could settle down with again. He tried, he _tried_ , but every time he got close to a woman it was like he hit this brick wall and he had to back off. Maybe some day. . .

Tony looked at him for a long moment then said, "You like her." The implication was that he thought that Gibbs liked her a lot.

Gibbs rubbed his eyebrow and smiled ruefully. "Yeah. Guess I do. Not sure how far it'll go though." He could feel the flush rising up his neck and wished he'd kept his damned mouth shut about his personal life. Gibbs inhaled deeply and said, "Look, one of the reasons I wanted to see you was to give you this." He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. He handed it to Tony, who hesitated and then took it warily. "These are some people you can call if you need anything."

Tony unfolded the paper and looked at the names and numbers Gibbs had written out for him. His smile faltered. "Why would I need to call anyone?"

"You won't be able to reach me."

Tony's face went still, almost blank, with that closed-off look he got sometimes. Gibbs hadn't seen it lately, not even when Tony had visited over the holidays. Naturally Tony had been unhappy about his broken leg, and the way his father had ignored him, and he had been more open about his feelings than at any other time Gibbs had known him. Tony didn't always say things straight out so Gibbs often had to figure out what was eating at him.

Gibbs was getting better all the time at reading his young friend's mind and emotions though. He had observed that Tony showed happiness easily but as soon as he was overwhelmed or upset he shut himself off. That was Tony's way of handling strong emotions, but it wasn't easy to be faced with the neutral façade and know that he was hurting inside. Most people would look at Tony and see exactly what he wanted them to see, but not Gibbs. Tony was practiced at switching on and off like that, and it bothered Gibbs even though he'd seen it happen a few times now. He wondered at what age it had begun, and what had initially triggered the coping mechanism. Gibbs wasn't a shrink but he knew pain when he saw it, even when it was buried deeply.

With his eyes lowered to the list of contact numbers gripped in his hand, Tony said carefully, "You know, I'm not going to have any free time, what with studying and getting my leg into shape, and I'm up to my ears with work, too. Gotta keep the money rolling in." He rolled his eyes dramatically about the money and continued quickly, before Gibbs could get a word in edgewise, "Taking a course in massage as a backup. Yeah, I know, stupid to take on too much, but I'm making up for lost time from when I was laid up, and graduation is just around the corner. Time flies," he said with a strained laugh. "I applied for this job over at the veteran's rehab in Columbus, and the coach gave me a really good recommendation..." Tony's voice petered out and, unwilling to look at Gibb's face, he fixed his gaze instead at Gibbs' hands. Neither man said anything for a long moment then Tony said in a small voice, "I think maybe it'd be better if you don't come here any more, Gibbs."

Taken aback at Tony's about-face, Gibbs edged forward until their knees touched. Tony was hunched over, crushing the life out of the paper in his fist, his eyes glazed over like he was a million miles away. Gibbs reached out to lay a hand on top of Tony's, wanting to make some kind of connection, to draw him back, fearful he'd somehow lost him. "It's just a safeguard, Tony."

Tony withdrew slightly but Gibbs, unwilling to retreat, let his hand remain in contact with Tony's, not pressuring him in any way, but trying to assure him that he wasn't going anywhere.

He could see Tony's long eyelashes sweeping his cheeks, the faint shadow of youthful stubble on his upper lip, his tongue as it emerged to lick his lips in preparation for something he was about to say. Gibbs asked gently, "Is that what you really want, Tony? For me to stop visiting you?"

Tony pulled his hand out of Gibbs' loose hold and raised his eyes to look straight at him. There was a flicker of connection but all of a sudden it was like a switch had been thrown. Gibbs could literally _see_ the moment when Tony deliberately shut his emotions away.

"I appreciate everything you've done for me, Gibbs, but I'll be fine," Tony said in a cool tone.

It took Gibbs a few seconds to realize that he was being summarily dismissed. He stared into the young man's eyes, trying to catch a glimpse of what was going on inside his head, but Tony had a talent for hiding and right now he was pulling out all the stops. All Gibbs could see was the same kind of polite façade you might find on the face of a stranger, a salesman who seemed friendly enough when he shook your hand but would have a hard time recalling your name next time you met.

Suddenly angry with Tony for pushing him away, for denying him the chance to help, Gibbs glared and said in a low voice, "I am not walking away, Tony. That's _not_ gonna happen." Many men, some of them seasoned soldiers, had faltered when faced with Gibbs' glare, but Tony didn't falter. Gibbs had to give the kid credit for holding his gaze so steadily. He wondered where that determination came from.

Tony dropped the crumpled paper in Gibbs' lap. "I don't need this. I don't _want_ it," he said tightly. "I don't need you." The implication was clear: he didn't need anyone.

Gibbs was irritated and even a bit hurt at Tony for treating him like he was a stranger, and he made the mistake of letting his annoyance show. "You want to be left alone? Is that what you think you need?" he asked tautly. "You gonna spend your life avoiding getting close to people, distrusting them? Believe me, that's not the answer."

"What then? You have something better to do so you hand me a piece of paper like that's going to make up for it?" Tony shot back.

"I'm leaving on a job, Tony."

"Yeah, I know how that goes," Tony said with a snort.

"I'm not leaving _you_. Damn it, I'm not like your father, Tony. I'm not going to drop you or stop caring about you because it's inconvenient or because you don't agree with me, or because you choose to play ball instead of become a damned accountant. And I'm going to be back." He reached out to touch Tony's arm, hoping that physical contact would bring Tony to his senses, would bring him back.

Tony raised one arm defensively and jerked back in alarm. "Don't!" Eyes wide with fear, Tony quickly scrabbled back on his bed until he hit the wall with a thump.

Shocked at the boy's reaction, Gibbs' anger turned to consternation. He should retreat, give Tony some much-needed space but there was nowhere for him to go, the room was so small. He sure as hell wasn't going to walk out of Tony's room and leave him alone right now. Gibbs raised his hands and assured Tony, "I'm not going to hurt you, Tony. It's all right." His voice exuded a calm that he did not feel. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you. I just wanted to…" Damn it, what did he want? He wanted Tony to know that he cared about him, that he always had someone in his corner. This was about making sure that Tony felt secure and wanted, about teaching Tony that he didn't need to hide inside himself, that he could open up to someone who cared about him. Gibbs shook his head – he was hardly a role model for expressing himself.

Gibbs sat back and tried to relax, his hands on his thighs, trying appear non-confrontational. Tony's knees were drawn up and his arm still covered his face. He'd been breathing fast at first, but slowly his breaths evened out. Tony lowered his arm, revealing a pale face and dark eyes. He didn't move from the far side of the bed, which was just about as far away from Gibbs as he could get in the small bedroom.

Gibbs waited patiently while Tony struggled to regain his composure. He could, of course, leave and give Tony time to get over whatever had spooked him, but damned if he was going to walk away leaving this…this ugly thing standing between them. It was unfathomable, after all the time they'd spent together, that Tony would think he was capable of hurting him. Yet Tony's reaction, the way he'd cringed, was an accusation, sharp and painful. It hurt so much that Gibbs dropped his head into his hands and closed his eyes. "Jesus, Tony. How could you think I'd ever lay a hand on you?"

It was a minute later that Gibbs felt a hand on his shoulder, a very tentative hand. He didn't move, afraid he'd frighten Tony again. With his gaze lowered he could tell that Tony had moved closer, to the edge of the bed.

Tony said in a small voice, "I didn't mean it. I didn't, I _didn't_ really think you'd…"

Slowly, so he wouldn't cause alarm, Gibbs raised his head and looked up to meet Tony's eyes. For once the younger man's emotions were exposed, raw and truthful, sending Gibbs a deeply apologetic plea.

"I'm sorry, Gibbs," Tony said, his voice almost a whisper.

Gibbs wanted to demand what the hell had Tony been thinking, but instead he used all of his skills to keep his voice calm and non-threatening. "I'm sorry I startled you." He waited and saw Tony relax, so he continued, as cautious as if he was confronting a skittish animal. "I wasn't really angry with you, Tony, and even if I had been, you know…you _have_ to know I'd never _ever_ strike you. You do know that, right?"

Tony's eyes dropped and then looked up to meet Gibbs' eyes once again. He nodded. "I thought I'd…got over doing that." He hung his head. "Hasn't happened for a long time. Pavlov's dog, ya know?"

"It was my fault for losing my temper," Gibbs admitted. "I…" He had to think back to what had triggered this whole thing. "I gave you those phone numbers because…Look, I'm going out of the country on NCIS business. I want you to have some kind of backup so that's why I wrote down some numbers. That's all. I want to make sure you have someone to turn to if I can't be around."

Tony took the crumpled wad of paper from Gibbs and smoothed it out.

Gibbs took that as a good sign. "That number," he said, pointing to the top one, "is for Tom Morrow, my boss. He's a good man and he'll always know where I am. He'll send me a message. Understand? The other number is for a good friend of mine: Dr. Mallard. He's the best man I know and he'll always be there to help you if you need anything, even if it's just someone to talk to. I want you to promise me you'll call them if you need something. No matter what it is." He waited to make sure that his words had sunk in and when Tony nodded, Gibbs smiled with relief and said, "Good boy."

Tony hung his head and his hair flopped over his forehead, but Gibbs could see the color return to his cheeks. After a minute Tony asked solemnly, "Where're you going? For how long?"

Reluctantly Gibbs said, "It's need-to-know. Federal business. I can't tell anyone, even if I'd like to. Maybe four months." Tony didn't look up so Gibbs added, "I always want to stay in touch with you, Tony." He wanted to know who the bastard was who had hurt Tony so badly that he'd recoil like that when a man showed anger. Gibbs had to work to control his temper, once again, knowing it wouldn't do for Tony to see the deep fury that flared inside him. It had to be his father, DiNozzo Sr., who'd done this to Tony. It was a good thing that Tony did not see Gibbs' expression at that moment or he would have seen the darkness in Gibbs' eyes and it would have scared the shit out of him.

With a nod, Tony sat straighter and by the time he looked up, Gibbs had managed to put on what he hoped was a neutral expression. He almost laughed at himself, being annoyed earlier that Tony was putting on a mask and here he was, doing the same thing.

"Jethro?"

"Yeah?"

"Why?"

Gibbs raised his eyebrows in question.

Tony cleared his throat and asked, "Why'd you keep seeing me? Invite me to spend Christmas with you? Why'd you give me this?"

"You do what you have to for family." Gibbs shifted uneasily in the chair. "You have family over at the holidays, talk to them, care about them. Watch out for them. That's what you and me are…family."

"Family? Really?" Tony's face brightened with the beginnings of a real smile but then he sobered. "It's going to be dangerous, isn't it? This assignment you're going on. You'll be careful, won't you?"

Gibbs assured him, "Don't worry, I'm good at what I do. Trained by the best."

"My bodyguard," Tony said with a crooked smile.

"Yeah, always on your six, son. Look, when I get back, how about you come and visit me? Think you can get some time off sometime in the summer? It'll give us both something to look forward to."

Tony smiled, one of his bright, all-encompassing smiles, the kind that lit up the whole room. Gibbs knew he'd carry the memory of it with him halfway around the world, just as he knew for sure that he'd done the right thing by coming here to tell Tony about his plans, face-to-face.

Gibbs stuck out his hand and Tony shook it but a second later the young man was in his arms, hugging him tight and saying in his ear, "I'll miss you, Jethro."

"I'll miss you, too, Tony."

***–*** end chapter 5 ***–***


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6 - A Great Strange Dream**

Happiness consists in realizing it is all a great strange dream.  
~ Jack Kerouac

_July 30, 1993, Columbus, Ohio_

"Yeah, I'm getting a ride with a buddy as far as Baltimore. I dunno. Guess I'll hitch… no… yeeees…You _do_ know I'm not a kid, right Jethro?" Tony scuffed the toe of his sneaker on the ratty carpet in the frat house's hallway and cradled the telephone between his jaw and his shoulder. "Yes, sir. I mean yes, _Gibbs_ , I'll take the bus." He smiled into the mouthpiece. "Bet you say that to all your friends. See you soon."

***–***

_July 31, 1993, Arlington, VA_

The day before Tony arrived in DC, Gibbs told his wife that a college kid was coming to work with him on the boat for the rest of the summer. Gibbs didn't give away any more information than he absolutely had to. He wouldn't have said anything at all except that Tony was going to be staying at the house, and he was pretty sure that she'd catch on that they had a houseguest.

That night, his wife accused him of being a mute bastard and slammed the bedroom door in his face, once again. Gibbs sat on his hand-built deck with a beer in his hand and looked up at the stars while he gave some thought about why he'd been so tight-lipped about Tony's visit.

All Gibbs knew was that he didn't want to share Tony with her. Could be because soon after he and Laura tied the knot, he'd had a pretty strong feeling that the marriage wasn't going to last. She was transient, passing through. But Tony? Tony was part of Gibbs' life, a permanent fixture. That's how he saw it anyway.

He'd tried to make his second marriage work, and he'd tried damned hard. The job got in the way though that wasn't the whole reason the relationship had hit the rocks. Maybe his expectations had been too high. He'd taken it for granted that she'd just understand him, as Shannon had, without having to constantly explain things and talk about his feelings. Gibbs rubbed his eyes and sighed. Shannon got it, so why didn't Laura?

Ducky was the only person he'd told about it – how he'd been hired as Tony's bodyguard and how he'd taken it upon himself to watch over the kid – and that was because the ME was the closest thing Gibbs had to a friend. He had trusted Ducky enough to ask him to take care of Tony in his absence, and Ducky had accepted readily. It was good to know that Ducky was watching his six.

After a rare bout of soul searching, after he'd progressed from beer to bourbon, Gibbs conceded that he was a possessive bastard, and more than a little fond of the kid, and that he alone was ultimately responsible for Tony's wellbeing. Not that Tony was a kid any more. Not that there was anything wrong with caring about him, either. At least with Tony he didn't have to talk about his damned feelings. Tony just seemed to get it.

Gibbs was looking forward to Tony's visit. He hadn't seen him since he'd attended his commencement ceremony at Ohio State back in May. Gibbs had felt inordinately proud that day, watching Tony accept his degrees. Afterwards, he'd seen Tony search the crowd of family members until he located Gibbs; Tony had smiled widely, been so damned happy, so full of promise. Once again, Gibbs wondered how Senior could waste yet another chance to be there for Tony, and on such an important day in his son's life.

***–***

_Earlier, in May, 1993, Columbus, Ohio_

Gibbs was surprised to discover that in addition to Phys. Ed. degree Tony had also earned a BS in Criminal Justice, in crime analysis.

"I didn't want to say anything in case I flunked out," explained Tony, flushing when his achievement was revealed and Gibbs let it be known how proud he was of him. "Uh, and there's more. I talked to an agent and he's scheduling for me to go to some open tryouts for pro football."

"Hey, that's great, Tony."

"Well, I don't know if anyone'll be interested in me, but at least I have a chance." Tony caught Gibbs looking at his leg, and he said, "All healed up. Ready to go."

"What does your father say about it?" Gibbs didn't bother to look around to see if DiNozzo Sr. was present. Although neither Gibbs nor Tony was surprised at the no-show, Tony struggled to hide his disappointment.

"My father?" Tony tensed a bit, his normal reaction whenever his father was mentioned. He managed to paste a somewhat convincing smile on his face when he suggested, "Uh…what he doesn't know won't hurt me?"

"You tell him anything?"

Tony raised his chin and said firmly, "Not going to, either, unless he asks me directly. I don't need his approval any more."

Gibbs doubted that Senior would be any more pleased about Tony's interest in criminal justice than he was about Tony studying physical education. A career in football wouldn't go over well, nor would Senior give his son credit where it was due for all of his hard work. Knowing what the answer would be, Gibbs asked anyway, "You planning on going home anytime soon?"

"Home?" Tony was momentarily puzzled. "Oh. No, I don't….I guess I don't have anywhere to go." He shrugged. "I'll stick around here. That job at the VA is lined up. Thanks for putting in a good word for me, Gibbs."

Gibbs _had_ talked to the supervisor at the VA, but he didn't know how Tony had figured that out. He cleared his throat and asked, "You even talk to your dad?"

Tony bit his lower lip and studied the ground. "Last time I called my father we had a sort of 'Red River' moment." He caught Gibbs' quizzical look and prompted, "You know, John Wayne and Montgomery Clift?"

Gibbs knew the movie but he wasn't sure how it applied. He raised an eyebrow, sure that Tony would explain.

"'Red River' was Howard Hawks' first western, in 1948. Cattle drive, conflict, father and adopted son fighting it out until they come to terms with each other," Tony said. "In the book, the father bites the dust but the movie was more upbeat. Reconciliation and manly looks instead of hugs." He punched Gibbs playfully on the arm to illustrate his point and then looked thoughtful. "I wonder which it'll be between Dad and me? Hugs or a fight to the death? You can guess which ending I'd like to see."

"Life ain't like a movie, Tony," Gibbs said, more harshly than intended.

Tony tilted his head to one side and seemed to be weighing Gibbs up. "There's this line in 'Red River' that says a man should celebrate when he marries, when he has kids, and when he finishes a job that he had to be crazy to start. You don't think that sounds like real life?"

Gibbs looked at Tony for a long moment, wondering if the young man really believed that there were storybook endings and that life imitated film. If so, he was in for some big disappointments. In the end Gibbs kept his thoughts to himself and said, "My offer's still open, Tony. Come to DC in August. If you can get any time off that fancy new job of yours."

Tony met Gibbs' eyes to verify his sincerity. "You mean that, Jethro? You really want me to stay with you?"

"Isn't that what I said? It isn't gonna be lazing around in the sunshine though. I'm gonna work your ass off, DiNozzo."

Despite the warning, Tony appeared to be inordinately pleased at the invitation. "Thanks, Jethro." Tony threw his arms around Gibbs and gave him a big hug. As soon as he released Gibbs, Tony immediately said, apparently quite seriously, "So, we need to talk about this weird belief you have that life isn't a movie. Didn't your parents teach you anything? I thought you grew up in Mayberry where the cop was your second cousin and didn't carry a gun, and you and your friends played pranks like waxing the front steps of the old folks' home."

Gibbs flushed. "I never should have told you about that. Do _not_ repeat it, Tony. You listening to me?"

Tony just grinned.

***–***

_August 1, 1993, Arlington, VA_

Tony knocked on the front door of Gibbs' home mid-morning on the first day of August. It was soon opened by a striking redheaded woman who looked him up and down in such a way that Tony wondered if he'd put his shirt on inside out or something. Without a slightly sour expression she motioned him inside. Lined up in the foyer were several suitcases, tote bags and a huge straw hat.

Tony thought, 'Long trip. Beach resort. Expensive luggage, good taste.'

"He's not here," she said in a flat tone as she picked up a couple of the smaller bags.

"I'm Tony DiNozzo, ma'am," he said politely, looking with interest at the little he could see of Gibbs' home from the foyer. "Is Agent Gibbs at work?" It was a weekday so Tony didn't really expect to find Gibbs at home. Considering the withering glare Tony received from Gibbs' wife he couldn't blame the guy for working long hours.

"Your guess is as good as mine." From the weary way Mrs. Gibbs spoke, she must have said the same thing a hundred times before. She demanded, "Where do _you_ think he is?"

Apparently Mrs. Gibbs wanted an answer, so Tony asked, "Work?"

"Guess you _do_ know him. After all, there are only two words in Leroy's vocabulary," she said tartly. "Work and boat."

When she pressed past Tony, he flattened himself against the wall, but a lifetime of training to be polite kicked in and he grabbed the remaining luggage and ran after her. She didn't take any time arranging her things in her open sports car; just took her bags and tossed them on the back seat. Tony wanted to ask what the big hurry was but the woman, though beautiful and this side of thirty, and had a brittle edge to her that reminded him of his father's second wife. He shrank inwardly and decided he wasn't going to ask her how to get hold of Gibbs. It was way too early in the day to be slapped down, even by such a good-looking woman.

Mrs. Gibbs snatched her big hat out of Tony's hands, pulled her car keys from her purse and got into the driver's seat. For the first time she stopped long enough to look Tony in the face. She sighed and said, "Look…what's your name again?"

"Tony," he supplied.

"Look, Tony, you seem like a nice young man. Do yourself a favor and don't waste your time trying to be his friend. Leroy has a damned hard shell and you'll only find more of the same inside. You'll be nothing but disappointed and it'll only sap the life right out of you." She frowned at him. "How long are you staying?"

"I'm here for August, Mrs. Gibbs."

"Hmm. If you last more than a week you'll earn yourself a medal. Just ask him to give you one of his; he has plenty to spare."

Tony was still trying to compare the Gibbs he knew with the man that this woman saw, when she put on her sunglasses and started the car. He quickly asked, "Where can I find him, ma'am? Should I call NCIS?"

"You're welcome to try. He left you an envelope on the kitchen counter." She gave a humorless laugh. "More than he's ever done for me." She backed her car down the driveway and drove off quickly as if she couldn't wait to get out of there.

Tony watched the car disappear down the street, troubled that he'd dropped into the final moments of what looked like a marriage gone sour. He'd seen enough of his father's marriages fall apart to recognize the signs. All Tony could think of was how upset Gibbs was going to be, and how he'd do his best to help him through a tough time.

***–***

There were boats of all shapes and sizes parked in the big lot, some of them hulking working vessels covered in tarps, some small motor boats. Most were in various stages of repair or refurbishment, with the engine parts and boating equipment unique to a marina piled around their landlocked bodies.

The hull of the boat that Gibbs was working on loomed high above him, supported by stabilizing metal stands and blocks. He paused while scraping the paint off the hull, feeling the presence of someone behind him. Turning his head, he saw Tony standing there, shading his eyes as he scoped out the large sailboat sitting in dry dock.

"Wow, she's…big…and…and…um…"

"Never thought I'd see the day, DiNozzo," Gibbs said with a shake of his head.

"See what day, Gibbs?"

"The day you were at a loss for words," Gibbs said with a straight face as he wiped his arm across his sweaty forehead. "Sandpaper's there," he said by way of greeting.

Tony pulled his sunglasses out of his back pocket, slipped them on and studied the wooden sailboat that had seen better days. "You treat all your guests to such a fine welcome?"

"Only the guests I like," Gibbs retorted. He wanted to tell Tony that he wasn't a guest, but he refrained. They had arranged that he would give Tony room and board and some cash in exchange for helping him refinish the old 50-footer.

Tony gamely picked up a sandpaper block and watched Gibbs to see how it was done. It appeared that Gibbs had been stripping off the old paint and planned to caulk, repair and repaint the part that would be submerged in the water. Not that Tony knew anything about boats from this perspective. "Last time I was anywhere near a boat, I had a cute girl on my arm and a cold drink in my hand," he said with a smile.

"You see any cute girls around here?" Gibbs asked caustically.

"Oh, they'll turn up," Tony said with confidence.

"Yeah, well, you'll be working so hard for me that by the end of the day you won't have any energy to do more than just look," Gibbs retorted.

"Hey, I'm an athlete, remember? Lots of stamina."

Gibbs rolled his eyes. Tony just grinned and started right in on sanding the old finish off the boat.

***–***

Within a few minutes Tony had divested himself of his t-shirt and was talking up a storm. He told Gibbs how his frat brother's pickup had broken down just outside Baltimore. They'd had to wait for a part for the truck until the next morning so they'd slept in the flatbed but it had rained. "Not exactly the best night's sleep I've ever had." Finally, parting from his friend, Tony caught a bus from Baltimore to DC, and made his way to Gibbs' house. "I found your note with the directions. Hope you don't mind I borrowed your bicycle to get here. I pumped up the tires but third gear keeps slipping."

"I can drop you off in the morning when I head to work," Gibbs offered.

Gibbs worked alongside the young man, occasionally showing him what to do. "With the grain, DiNozzo," he barked. When Gibbs stopped to take a drink of water from the cooler he'd set nearby in the shade, he realized that despite Tony's constant jabbering, he was really happy that Tony had taken him up on his invitation.

From the intel that Gibbs had gathered from Tony's supervisors at the VA health center – just to make sure he was settling in all right, Gibbs told himself – Tony was 'well-liked, motivated and sharp as a tack.' He was also a 'pain in the ass who needed a firm hand.' That last comment had come straight from the lips of a seasoned military nurse at the VA who took no crap from anyone, although she made it clear she thought the world of Tony.

Tony slipped his sunglasses off his nose, stuck them on top of his head, and squinted at the length of the big boat. He rubbed his bare stomach, and from where he stood, Gibbs could hear it rumble with hunger. "You eat anything today?" Gibbs realized they'd been working all afternoon and had only stopped for water and bathroom breaks.

Tony shrugged. "Had breakfast."

Gibbs grunted. That probably meant Tony had grabbed some fast food on the way here.

"She's looking good," Tony said with a satisfied smile at the boat. "How many hours a week do you spend here?"

"Not enough. I don't often get a whole day to work on her, but my boss got himself a new probie so he let me have a day off. Sometimes I come down here for a couple of hours after work, if there's any daylight left." Lately, he was lucky if he made it home from work by ten most nights. If Mike Franks hadn't taken on another investigator, Chris Pacci, Gibbs wouldn't have had any time off at all. He glanced at his watch. "Getting on for 6:30. We'll go find you some food soon." Now he had a 22-year-old to take care of he'd have to stock up on groceries. He wondered if there was anything to eat in the house and, more importantly, if his wife was still there.

As if reading his mind, Tony said, "I met your…uh…Mrs. Gibbs as she was leaving. I think she packed the kitchen sink in her luggage."

Gibbs tensed but didn't say a word.

Tony looked away to check his reflection in the side mirror of Gibbs' pickup, which was parked next to his boat. He tweaked his hair and said, almost formally, "If it's not convenient for me to stay at your house, I can make other arrangements." After a pause, Tony looked up at the boat and said, "Maybe I could bunk here."

If Tony had met his wife, he'd probably correctly assessed Gibbs' marital situation right off the bat. "No. She won't be around," Gibbs said gruffly. Not until summer was over; Laura's sister had a place on some island off Massachusetts where men wore linen suits, women had lawn parties, and everyone set their watches to beep at cocktail time. Hell, who was he kidding? She wouldn't be back, that much was clear. Their marriage had taken a nosedive within a month of their vows and he'd grabbed at the first overseas assignment that came his way. Not that Bosnia had been much of a picnic but, in retrospect, getting shot at seemed preferable to getting shot down.

Laura had expected something of Gibbs that he could never give, and for some crazy reason she had presumed that marriage would change him. Or that _she_ could change him. He wasn't the kind of man who opened up easily, if at all. He was more the 'what you see is what you get' kind of guy. It didn't take her long to realize that Gibbs was unable, or unwilling, to be the man that she expected him to be. Shannon was the only woman who had ever seen him for who he really was, but even so they'd had their share of difficult moments. They'd always met halfway though, accepting that some give and take was necessary from both partners in the marriage.

Right now Gibbs couldn't see much past his anger, which was directed at himself more than at his soon-to-be-ex. He found he wasn't so much upset that the marriage had disintegrated as he was pissed that he'd been blind, and had fallen into the trap in the first place. It wouldn't happen again, he swore.

Tony eyed Gibbs with more interest than sympathy. "Is being married more than you bargained for – or less?"

He'd forgotten how astute the kid was. "She hates my line of work," Gibbs found himself saying. "Hates my long hours, hates me going undercover." She hated the stains that wouldn't come out of his clothing, the middle-of-the-night phone calls from Franks, his allegiance to job first and foremost. She hated that he wouldn't tell her everything, even though they both knew she'd hate what he'd have to say if he _did_ let it all out. "She hates when I'm gone. Hates me even more if I'm at home for more than a couple of hours. Can't win for trying."

Gibbs picked up a new sheet of sandpaper and went back to work, leaning into the hull with each sweep of his arm. He could feel Tony's eyes following him, his intent gaze burning into the back of his head. All of a sudden, he felt trapped and irritated, and knowing that Tony was watching him made Gibbs impatient. He didn't want Tony to be a witness to what he was going through; it was the kind of thing a man had to deal with on his own.

"Is this your boat, Gibbs? I mean are you planning on sailing her around the world once you're finished, like Nicole Kidman and Sam Neill in 'Dead Calm'? Hopefully without any psychotic men coming aboard."

Gibbs said sharply, "As soon as she's finished, she's going up for sale, that okay with you? Now are you gonna pitch in, DiNozzo, or is this too much manual labor for you? If this isn't what you expected you can bail out right now." Gibbs knew that he wasn't being fair but ever since he returned from Bosnia these dark moods would just come over him without any notice. No telling what would trigger them, either; he'd be fine one minute and then something would set him off. He hated that he sounded pissed when he said, "Maybe you should just leave, too." Gibbs regretted his words the moment they were out of his mouth. He tensed, waiting for Tony to get angry and leave, closing his eyes tight, wishing he didn't feel like he was going to explode at any moment.

When Tony spoke from somewhere behind Gibbs, he sounded worried. " _I_ don't hate you, Jethro."

Gibbs froze, his hand flat on the hull of the boat. How was it that Tony could tolerate him when his own wife couldn't? "Yeah, well, just give it some time," Gibbs said without much heat.

Tony approached with careful steps until he was so close that all Gibbs had to do was straighten and they'd probably touch.

"I'm not going anywhere, Gibbs. I've got your six," Tony assured him in a low tone, barely above a whisper. "Remember when you first came to my apartment? You said we should see if we could survive before we made any long-term plans. I think we've survived pretty well so far. I got through college and have some solid plans for the future, thanks to you. And you have a job you love, a really important one. You make things better for people every day of your life, Gibbs, and not many people can say that. You've made it better for me. If you hadn't encouraged me I wouldn't have gone to those tryouts and, okay, not getting picked up for a team wasn't exactly the highlight of my life, but at least I tried. I'd have always wondered and now I know. Now it's time to take the next step."

Gibbs was touched by Tony's words of blind support, but he couldn't find the right words to respond in kind. He swallowed hard and said, "Go wash up now and we'll get some food."

For a few long seconds Tony didn't move. He then let out a long breath and stepped away. "Sure thing, Jethro."

Gibbs listened to the splash of water from the hose from over by his truck. By the time Gibbs had cleaned up and put his tools away, Tony had turned off the water and was pulling on his t-shirt. They got in the truck and were on the way when Tony turned to Gibbs and said, "I know you don't want to hear this, Gibbs, but we need to get something straight or else we're never gonna make it through the whole month together and this is really important to me. You see…uh…I…"

"Spit it out, DiNozzo."

"Well, you see, I _have_ to have extra cheese and sausage _and_ pepperoni on my pizza, or else it just isn't right and I get _really_ cranky if my pizza isn't just as I like. Just thought you should know what you're getting into here," said Tony seriously.

Gibbs stared at Tony and then burst into laughter. It was probably from relief, but at that moment he was sure that everything between them was going to be just fine. "Sausage and pepperoni, it is then."

"And extra cheese," Tony said with a smile in his voice.

"And extra cheese," Gibbs agreed.

***–***

Gibbs ordered the pizza and when it was delivered they sat on lawn chairs out on the deck. A few beers, and the knowledge that his wife wasn't going to be walking in on them, mellowed Gibbs somewhat. Okay, he felt a bit strange and a little bit guilty about coming home to an empty house, to the reality that she'd really left. But there was some relief in there, too, and even though that made Gibbs feel even more guilty, he put the bad feelings aside and concentrated on Tony.

Gibbs couldn't keep up with Tony's one-sided conversation, the way he was jumping from topic to topic as fast as a radio sportscaster covering a hot game, but he found himself enjoying Tony's company all the same.

Gibbs looked up at the starry night sky and wondered how long it would take to finish fixing up the boat. He just wanted to put her on the market so there'd be no more reminder of his soon-to-be ex-wife. He'd already decided that this winter he'd build a sailboat in his basement, one of those Amigo kits, a 22-footer. A boat he could easily handle by himself. A man needs a hobby to take his mind off all the shit that comes with the job, and working with his hands was a whole hell of a lot more productive than sitting on his ass at the local bar night after night. He'd done enough of that after Shannon and Kelly were killed.

Ever since he'd started at NCIS it had been go, go, go, what with his short-lived marital bliss, that overseas op, and Mike Franks' constant push to bring dirtbags that kept him on the run 'til late at night to justice. Franks didn't mind bending the rules if it got the job done but the director was usually worried about political repercussions. It was DC, after all. At least now that Pacci was on the team, Gibbs wasn't the probie any more. Now _there_ was something to smile about.

Tony was still talking about movies with boats, apparently not caring if Gibbs was listening to him or not. When he could get a word in edgewise, Gibbs asked, "What kind of markers did you have to call in to get a whole month off your job?"

Tony tensed and his ramblings came to an abrupt stop.

It took a couple of seconds for Gibbs to realize he'd made an assumption that was apparently wrong. Shit, rule number eight: never take anything for granted. "They _did_ give you leave, didn't they?"

Tony picked at the label on his beer bottle then stood abruptly and headed towards the kitchen. "Want another beer?"

Gibbs' voice stopped him cold. "Hey! Get the hell back here and tell me what's going on."

Tony did as he was told and slumped in the chair like a sullen teenager. He played with his empty beer bottle until Gibbs leaned over and smacked the back of his head.

"Ow!" Tony stared in shock at Gibbs and then said, in a small but defensive voice, "Okay, I'm not on leave. I left my job."

Gibbs told himself not to yell, that it wouldn't solve anything. He already regretted slapping Tony, especially since he knew how badly Tony had reacted to a perceived threat, like that time when Gibbs had gone to the frat house and Tony had thought Gibbs was going to hit him. Stupid, _stupid_ , he thought. In a carefully controlled voice Gibbs asked, "You quit a good job so you could laze around all summer, DiNozzo?"

Tony sat up straight and retorted, "After the paces you put me through today I wouldn't exactly call it lazing, Gibbs. I'm willing to work. And why is it you're ready to assume the worst of me? Are you even going to give me a chance to explain?"

Gibbs raised his eyebrows. "So explain."

Tony sighed and gave in. "Okay, everything was going fine at the VA. I developed new adaptive sports programs, coached a wheelchair basketball team for paraplegics, and I even motivated some of the recent vets to join in but…" He ran a hand through his hair. "It was good and steady work but it just wasn't _enough_ , Gibbs. I kept thinking about the times I worked on mock crime scenes in my crime analysis class. I remembered the excitement when I was out in the field. Sure, there was a lot of dry stuff and statistics, but I _knew_ it was for me."

When it became apparent that Gibbs wasn't going to come down on him, Tony leaned forward and said, "For as long as I remember my father's been telling me how my life was going to play out. He chose the career I was gonna have before I was even shaving, had me play with kids whose parents he thought I would need to know when I grew up. He had it all mapped out but I bucked him every chance I got. He signed me up for lacrosse? I played basketball. He arranged for me to take the daughter of some bigwig out on a fancy date; instead I took the chauffeur's daughter to a pool hall and we drank so much the cops picked us up on the way home. Dad thought I was giving him a hard time just because I was going through a James Dean stage or something, but I always knew that everything he was planning for me was wrong. No way was I gonna work a desk job at DNZ Enterprises and be able to keep my sanity." Tony ran his hand through his hair and sighed. "When I stuck to my guns and told him I wasn't going to follow his master plan, that I was going to OSU, and it finally sunk in that I meant what I said, he hit me so hard I lost a couple of teeth."

Gibbs understood what Tony was saying. He, too, had been at odds with his father, especially about going into the Marines on his 18th birthday. Hell, they'd had friction over just about every choice Gibbs had ever made, except with his choice of a bride. That was one thing that Jackson Gibbs had wholeheartedly agreed was a good thing. Not that his dad had ever struck him, not in anger or to bully him. Knowing that Tony's father had beaten his son gave Gibbs a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. How any parent could do that to a child was beyond him.

"I'm going to be an investigator, Gibbs. I really want this."

Being an NCIS special agent, working on important cases, figuring out complex crimes, going with his intuition and often finding himself to be right and putting criminals away – that was heady stuff.

Tony said, "I want to be like _you_."

Gibbs took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Shit, nobody had ever before said they wanted to be like him. Even so, Tony was smart and had good instincts. So long as he wasn't heading down this road out of some misguided sense of hero-worship or some other bullshit, he'd probably be fine. Gibbs had a strong feeling that he was going to spend an awful lot of time worrying about Tony in the years to come, especially if he went into law enforcement. "You're sure about this?" It was obvious but he had to ask.

Clearly relieved that it was out in the open, Tony said, "I already passed the Peoria Police Department's entrance exam. I start training at the police academy in September. My frat brother, Nate, he joined the Peoria PD last year, and after I realized I wasn't going to play pro ball, and I saw what he was doing…"

Tony talked about his career choice and the on-the-job experience that Peoria was offering, and Gibbs took it all in. The young man's spirit was invigorating but it made Tony appear so young. Or maybe, Gibbs thought, he was just feeling old in comparison. When he had been just a little older than Tony, he was married with a kid on the way, and had done a tour overseas with his unit, so why was he having concerns about Tony becoming a cop? Maybe it was his own version of parental concern, that responsibility he felt for Tony, kicking in. It was natural to worry, and just as natural for Tony to make his own way in the world. "It sounds like you've got it all worked out, Tony."

"You know that list of phone numbers you gave me, Gibbs? In case I had any problems when you were away?" He waited for Gibbs to nod and then said, "The week before I took the entry exam I called Dr. Mallard, because you weren't back yet from Bosnia. He was the only person I knew who was in the field, and I had to have a reference and…well, getting one from my father wasn't an option. I really needed to talk to someone and it couldn't wait and you weren't…"

Gibbs held up a hand to stem the flow of Tony's explanation. It sounded too much like an apology. "Hey, that's why I gave you his number. You did the right thing talking to Ducky."

When Gibbs had returned from overseas, Ducky had told him about the younger man's call. The ME had described Tony as being a fine young man, "and not quite so frivolous as he would lead one to believe," Ducky had said perceptively. Ducky had gone on to assert that, in his opinion, DiNozzo Sr. needed to be held accountable for what he'd done to the boy. "I had a long discussion with Anthony about his future, Jethro, and he seems to have a good head on his shoulders, although he does tend to go off on a tangent if he isn't reined in." Gibbs had stifled a laugh at that comment, especially coming from Ducky. "I suspect that with some discipline and guidance from an authority figure he'll mature quite nicely. If you want to know the particulars of our conversation, you will have to ask Anthony yourself," Ducky had said firmly. "I did promise him it would be confidential."

Gibbs had put off asking Tony about his talk with Ducky until they were face to face, and now he knew what it had been about. He only wished he could have been the one Tony had turned to for advice and assurance. Next time, he thought. "Dr. Mallard helped you sort things out?"

Tony nodded. "Yeah, he did. You've always been there for me, Gibbs, and I can't tell you how much I appreciate it. Just knowing you are there if I need anything makes all the difference. I asked Dr. Mallard not to tell you about it because I…I wanted to wait until I earned my badge and then I was going to show it to you."

"I'm looking forward to that day, Tony," Gibbs said with a smile, touched that Tony looked up to him.

Tony rubbed his eyebrow. "Only, once I got here I realized I couldn't keep it from you. I just wasn't sure how to bring it up, but I was going to tell you." Tony's eyes sought out reassurance from Gibbs. "So you think I can do this?"

"I think you can do whatever you put your mind to, Tony. Becoming a LEO might be a good fit for you. Thing is, there's a downside to law enforcement. Sure, you'll get the chance to catch some of the scumbags out there, to make a difference, but you'll see terrible things every day, some of 'em so bad they'll be imprinted in your brain forever. It can hit really close to home, screw you up bad. The stress of the job has messed up a lot of good cops whose only goal is to uphold the law, to do the right thing."

Tony shook his head, amused. "For a guy who supposedly can't communicate, you're doing pretty well, Jethro." After Gibbs smiled and shook his head in denial, Tony sat back in his lawn chair and looked up at the night sky. "It's about helping people, catching the bad guys, sure, but for me it's also about solving the puzzle. Understanding what makes people tick, getting into in the details of the crime, figuring out the how as well as the why. I've never put it into words before but this just feels _right_. Magnum says that dreams are a sort of a private movie you write, produce and direct. Well, this is _my_ dream. Guess that doesn't make a whole lot of sense to you though."

Actually, it did make sense, even with the _Magnum_ reference. "Yeah, I get it, Tony. You're the only person who can control your destiny." And Tony was used to making his own choices, sticking to his guns. If he'd been able to stand up to his damned asshole of a father all these years, he could handle anything. Tony was going to make a tenacious cop one day.

Tony grinned widely. "Yeah, that's it all right. You sure you haven't ever watched a _Magnum_ episode, Jethro?"

"Nope, and I'm not going to." Gibbs believed in Tony, and that was a whole lot more than his father had ever done. Senior would eventually find out about his son's latest 'bad choice' and Gibbs was just as sure that Tony would weather the inevitable storm just fine.

Tony stretched and yawned. "I'm beat. Gonna turn in if that's okay." He rose to his feet and said, "By the way, Boss, I looked in your cupboards and unless you want to eat beans for dinner, how about I go food shopping while you're at work tomorrow?"

"What's wrong with beans?" At Tony's look of horror Gibbs smiled. "Just buy real food, Tony. Milk, eggs, meat, fruit. Get something green but not peas. And no sugary cereal."

"God, you sound like a parent, Gibbs," Tony said in disgust.

Gibbs snorted. "You can use my truck, but no hot-dogging. Think you can work on the boat on your own tomorrow? I'll join you at the marina after work if I can."

"You trust me, Gibbs?" Tony wasn't just talking about working on the boat.

Gibbs wondered who had deemed him the one responsible for Tony's welfare – not that he minded the job. In fact he realized that he enjoyed it. It was obvious Tony trusted him implicitly and Gibbs just hoped he wasn't going to let him down. "Yeah, I trust you, Tony. Just sand the hull, same as we did today, and then we'll start on the railings on deck. Tell you what, you can come in to work with me sometime this week. And we can get in some target practice at the range."

Tony's face lit up with pleasure. "Get the grand tour of NCIS? I can finally meet Ducky?"

Gibbs got to his feet and when Tony stood beside him Gibbs slung an arm around his shoulders. "Oh yeah," he said with a grin as they walked into the house. "The NCIS morgue is a real good place to start if you're gonna be an investigator, DiNozzo."

***–***

Before he turned off the bedside lamp Tony slipped a single folded piece of paper out of an envelope that had 'DiNozzo' written across it in Gibbs' handwriting. He puffed up his pillows behind his head and once again read the note that Gibbs had left for him. He'd memorized the message by now but he still liked to see the actual writing, seeking to unlock the mystery that was Leroy Jethro Gibbs in the spare words and curling script. It seemed strange that the ex-Marine would have such nice handwriting; block letters seemed to be more in sync with his character. On the back of the paper was a concise map drawn in pencil, showing the way to the marina.

_Tony -_

_Bedroom upstairs at front of house is yours. Help yourself to food. Hands off the beer. Come to the marina. Map on back._

_Ducky says to say hi._

_Jethro_

Tony smiled about Gibbs saying this bedroom was his. His for the rest of the month, anyway. His smile grew even wider at Gibbs signing his first name, Jethro. Nice of Dr. Mallard to send a greeting, too.

Gibbs hadn't asked why Tony had chosen to apply to the Peoria PD rather than to a federal agency or NCIS. Tony needed to do this on his own, without any hint of favoritism or undue influence. Contrary to most people's expectations, he did have a plan. It might not be the kind of plan that DiNozzo Sr. would approve of, but it was Tony's plan and he liked it.

Peoria was a good place to learn the basics and he'd liked the no-nonsense superintendent of the police force, who he had met as part of the interview process. The PPD was expanding their detective division and they worked closely with the police forces of the three major cities within a two-hour drive. And what was best was that so long as Tony passed the training with high marks, he was assured a spot in the criminal investigations division. He would make Gibbs proud of him if it were the last thing he ever did. Detective Anthony DiNozzo. He smiled to himself.

After putting the note away safely, Tony turned off the light and settled down in the single bed. He went to sleep with a warm feeling in his heart and a smile on his face, all because one man – his bodyguard, his friend, his mentor – had opened his home and his heart to him.

***–*** end ***–*** ...and thanks for leaving me a comment!


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